With no FA Cup this weekend and coming off the back of a 6 nil drubbing against Liverpool in the Premier League, Aston Villa’s shockingly bad season continues to roll on and relegation seems inevitable.

Eight points separate them from the rest of the trailing pack and points are urgently needed if the Villa are to perform the greatest escape.

For Aston Villa fans, It’s been a spectacular slide from the brink of Champions League qualification to continuous battles with survival.

After last week’s defeat, the fans have said “enough is enough” and with protests against the board on the horizon, we all know the club is in need of a full makeover. If relegation is the answer, then as an Aston Villa supporter, I welcome the chance to leave the top flight of English football.

SEE MORE: Aston Villa need massive upheaval to prevent being a Championship team for decades

Many clubs have dropped out of the Premier League and never returned. The likes of Leeds United, Sheffield Wednesday and Coventry City come to mind, but we have to take note of the select few that have returned and established themselves as solid Premier League clubs. Teams such as Southampton and Leicester City both dropped down to the third tier and, after significant changes in the board room and playing personnel, they climbed back up bigger and stronger. And now they’re in the top half of the Premier League.

Pundits, ex-players and numerous sports writers have tried to put a pin on the problem at Villa but the solution seems very plausible. Aston Villa need a new owner, board and players. I know it’s easy for the fans to sit back and say, “change this and change that” but the whole business itself is like a worn-out old car that’s been sat in the scrap yard waiting to be crushed. The engine needs new oil, the body needs a new paint and a sensible driver is required at the wheel who will guide the club back to safety. If this means dropping further down the leagues, then I welcome the opportunity for the club to be sold and new players who actually want to play for the club.

Darker days are around the corner and the fans will have a to endure a few more years of misery and frustration, but Aston Villa is a big club with buying appeal. They have a Premier League-level stadium, their own training complex, a world-wide fan base and history. All these essential assets give Villa a good marketing platform for any potential investor. No doubts there will be a point in the future where the right businessman will come along and take a chance on the club, hopefully guiding the club into the right direction.

We can all agree that this is a terrible time to be a Villa supporter but I’m relishing the chance for change.

Here are three reasons why Villa fans should be excited about being potentially relegated to the Championship.

1. The Birmingham Derby

Both sets of supporters will be looking forward to the return of the Second City Derby. As long as Gary Rowett’s men don’t secure promotion through the play-offs, the tie between Villa and the Blues will be the hottest ticket in town.

2. Invest in Youth

For many years, the club have produced some of the country’s best players but due to the club being in a stronger position the youngsters haven’t had the chance to shine. But with relegation comes the opportunity for Villa’s under 21’s to take center stage and prove their worth. Expect Jack Grealish, Gary Gardner and Callum Robinson to feature heavily.

3. We Might Win

No other feeling can compare to the feeling you get after winning a soccer game. From Sunday League to the Nou Camp, the joyous celebrations remain the same. This sense of hope and happiness has been missing from Villa Park for nearly 5 years and the fans are desperate for a meaningful win and maybe a Championship trophy.

SEE MORE: Can Aston Villa engineer the great escape?

Both teams go into this Midlands derby on the back of midweek wins in the FA Cup. West Brom sealed their place in the fourth round with a 1-0 at Bristol City while Villa struck for two late goals to overcome League Two’s Wycombe. After last season’s FA Cup quarterfinal, where the Villa and Baggie fans clashed, this encounter is firing up to be a classic.

Saido Berahino, who scored in the 1-0 win back in September, has recovered from a stomach bug, and England goalkeeper Ben Foster is in line to make is first appearance of the season. This is welcome news after West Brom manager Tony, who informed the press this week that James Morrison will be out for up to eight weeks.

SEE MORE: Top 5 must-see games on TV this weekend.

Aston Villa will run a late fitness test on Carlos Sanchez. The Colombian has been out with an hamstring injury for a number of weeks. Captain Gabby Agbonlahor, Alan Hutton, Adama Toure and Jordan Amavi remain sidelined.

Win/Lose/Draw?

Pulis’s side will be hoping to bounce back after their 3-0 thrashing at Southampton, and Villa will be looking to build on their four-game unbeaten run.

West Brom have the added incentive of hammering a further nail into Villa’s relegation coffin and sending their rivals one step closer to The Championship, something Baggies fans would cherish.

Aston Villa need three points and nothing less to keep up to their relegation rivals. Time seems to be running out for Remi Garde’s men, but a win away at their rivals could spark the greatest of escapes.

Both teams will be going for the win. Expect goals.

SEE MORE: Remi Garde’s impact has given Aston Villa hope.

Players to watch

Solomon Rondon: The Venezuelan stiker has had a stuttering start to his career at The Hawthorns. The £12 million price tagh as been a burden and applied unwanted pressure to his game, but after scoring the winner midweek in the Cup, the striker will be confident of breaking the Villa back line.

Mark Bunn: The Villa goalkeeper has been picked ahead of Brad Guzan for the last 4 games and looked more at home then the USA international ever did. His confidence is sky high after the penalty save from Rayed Mahrez last weekend, and another big performance is needed if Villa are to walk away with three points.

Predicted lineups

West Bromwich Albion

Aston Villa

Two weeks ago, if you would’ve offered any Aston Villa fan the prospect of four points from the next two Premier League fixtures and a place in the fourth round of the FA Cup, they would’ve snapped your hand off. Now, after two late goals against Wycombe on Tuesday night, Villa have extended their unbeaten run to four games.

Are Aston Villa starting to see Remi Garde’s impact on the club? The players seem to be responding to his style on and off the pitch. The Frenchman shows a calm manner in the dugout, but after recent post match interviews and press conferences, you can tell he takes on a stern figure behind closed doors.

His recent criticism of the board resulted in Randy Learner handing over day to day running of the club to local businessman, Steve Hollis. Also, the treatment of Jack Grealish was well documented in the press and seemed harsh at the time, but again it seems the manager was right to place him in the reserves. Grealish will flourish and develop into a fine player, but all the fame came too soon, and he needed protecting. The youngster needs time to reflect and realize  hard work makes you a better player, and the work isn’t done just because you’ve played a handful of Premier League matches. Next season we will see a more mature and overall better player.

SEE MORE: Who’s good, who’s bad: Premier League owners edition.

The Villa boss has earned respect from managers all over Europe but was a surprise choice to succeed Tim Sherwood back in November. Since he was appointed, the critics have been burning the fire, asking whether a manager who hasn’t managed in the Premier League take over a club at the bottom of the table and turn it around?

His first 11 games told us he wasn’t the right man for the job, with Villa not picking up a single win, but things have changed after a win against Crystal Palace, holding top of the table Leicester City to a draw and overcoming a tricky banana skin in the Cup. Villa seemed to be in the process of turning their season around. The manager said after the Leicester game if he’d been there from the start of the season, Villa wouldn’t be in that position. I think he’s right.

The players are trying to adapt to Garde’s style of one-touch football. Under Tim Sherwood and in previous seasons, Villa have relied on the long ball, with Christian Benteke playing the target man. Before Benteke, it was John Carew, but now with Carles Gill playing the number 10 role, Villa have the chance to play exciting, fluid football.

The major problem, though, is that this group of Villa players don’t have the skill to execute this style ,and we saw switching back to long ball football worked against a big Leicester defense. We learned Saturday that short passing football is all well and good on the eye. but for now it’s victories Villa need, and adding Rudy Gestade alongside Libor Kozak could be a partnership that could really upset central defenders.

Recently Garde’s had to sustain frustration among the fans about the lack of transfer activity in this window, but what player would join a team that are bottom of the league and 10 points from safety? Too be honest, who is available for Villa to sign?

Reports have linked fellow Frenchman Mathieu Debuchy from Arsenal. This would be a welcome transfer, as fullback is a position where Villa have struggled, with Alan Hutton under performing.

Second transfer rumor comes from Italy, with ex-Manchester United captain Nemanja Vidic recently released by Inter Milan. Reportedly Vidic would welcome a return back to England. Could Remi Garde relight the spark that made the Serbian such a colossus?

Finally, the final player to be linked with the club is Leicester City midfielder Gokhan Inler. This would be a fantastic signing. He’s been unlucky not to be starting at King Power Stadium, and the Swiss international would bring a wealth of experience and power to the midfield, something that’s been missing since the departure of Fabian Delph.

Adding these three players to the roster would steady the back line and give players such as Idrissa Gueye the freedom to move forward. And adding a goalscorer to the mix such as Dwight Gayle from Crystal Palace could give Villa more of a chance against their opposition.

Let’s just face the facts, Aston Villa are a poor football team, but survival is still a possibility, and what’s been evident in recent performances is a positive. If Remi Garde is given time to implement his style of football then he’ll prove the critics wrong and show them he was the right man for the job, whether that’s in the Premier League or the Championship.

I think we can all agree, it’s been a nightmare season on and off the pitch for Aston Villa.

In the aftermath of their second win of the season against Crystal Palace on Tuesday the board announced the appointment of new chairman, Steve Hollis. Once again, highlighting the shambles that is taking place behind the scenes at Villa Park.

Relatively unknown Hollis takes over a club in turmoil. The team find themselves bottom of the Premier League, eight points from safety and with an owner who refuses to speak to the media, which has created a bitter relationship between the club and its supporters.

The new chairman took over the reins on Thursday and immediately told the media that the club needed “shaking up,” but spending money on players wasn’t the solution. What is the solution then, Steve? Because the current crop of players are not good enough to keep the side in the league.

SEE MORE: Top 5 must-see soccer games on TV this weekend.

It’s emerged Randy Lerner, still the owner of the football club, doesn’t want to take the blame for the failures that have occurred. Instead he’s appointed a puppet to take the criticism. A lack of commitment from Lerner and not spending the right money on the right player is the main reason why Villa are in this position, not only this year but for the last five seasons. The club’s been sliding down the table, selling the best players and replacing them with below par or past their prime standard. The result is relegation battle after relegation battle.

Hollis will work with chief executive Tom Fox on a day to day basis trying to pick up the pieces of a club who he himself described as “broken.” So, where do they begin?

Firstly, scrap the recruitment system that gives Lerner the final say on all transfers and give Remi Garde full control of player acquisition.

Secondly, sell or release the dead weight that currently hold a place in the first team squad. Joe Cole recently move to League 1 Coventry City on a free. So players such as Kieran Richardson, Joe Bennett, Alan Hutton, Charles N’Zogbia and Gabby Agbonlahor need to leave to free funds so we can afford players on a free or on loan. It amazes me that these players are still at the club, never mind in the Premier League.

Villa have been accused of playing sideways instead attacking forward, but it’s astounding how both Richardson and Hutton are given so much time and space by the opposition that their teammates have no choice but to pass the ball to them. This results in giving the ball away, booting the ball out for a goal kick or a poor quality cross that barely beats the first man. They equally bring poor decision making and untimely tackles that result in unnecessary pressure on the defense. These unwanted players still find themselves in the starting eleven but offer absolutely nothing to the team, and a new lease of life is needed to boost spirits in the players and our supporters.

Thirdly, replace goalkeeper Brad Guzan with Mark Bunn and continue to play Libor Kozak in attack. Make these changes and Villa could see a change in their misfortunes. Bunn looked steady against Wycombe in the cup and the big Czech looked a handful on Tuesday night.

After the 1-0 home win over Crystal Palace, Villa fans look at the eight-point gap between themselves and Swansea with optimism instead of dread. In my opinion, Villa need to win all nine remaining home games to secure the great escape. It’s not an impossible act. Leicester City were in a similar position last year, and a strong finish to the season saw them to safety.

Remi Garde needs to stick with the same starting XI that grounded out the victory against Crystal Palace. For the first time this season, there was passion and belief from the players that could spark a run of form that could end in survival. A win changes everything, and Villa will go into Saturday’s clash with Leicester full of confidence.

Is this the beginning of the greatest ever escape? Surely we can dream.

The moment Obafemi Martins tapped home Birmingham’s League Cup winner last Sunday, something strange and mysterious happened. Down at City rivals Aston Villa, it triggered the start of a horrific week. First Villa revealed losses of up to £37 million. Then Gerard Houllier took the first team to Eastlands (well half of the first team. No, two of the first team). The Martin O’Neill saga continued and then that Saturday game at Bolton… where do I start?

Recently things have been on the up at Villa Park and if you would have asked me last week after the 4-1 victory over Blackburn, do you think we could have beat City? I would have replied, plain and simple, yes. If it wasn’t for Paul Robinson in the Blackburn goal, Villa would have been four up at half time never mind full time. We were fast on the break. Young and Bent were playing well together as they have been doing recently. And with confidence back up high, I thought it would have been common sense to play our best team against a City side that was going to rest some of their stars. Saying that, players like Balotelli, Vieira and Lescott could easily walk into the Villa team any day of the week. Instead we made up to ten changes. This, as a huge fan of the FA Cup was very surprising but more disappointing. Former Villa captain Gareth Southgate was the TV pundit and also expressed his shock of Houllier’s selection stating “A good cup run can produce good results in the league.” I couldn’t agree more and I know they are a League One side but look at Leyton Orient’s recent League form while they were on their cup run. I could go on about the City game but what’s the point? It’s over and done with. But before that… Herd and Delph as full backs? It boggles the mind.

This season, more than I could ever remember, we’ve had to use more youth from the academy. Players like Albrighton, Clark, Bannan, Delfouneso, Hogg, Herd, Baker and Lichaj have become household names. And we could be seeing more of them over the next coming seasons if last year’s losses have anything to do with it. The exact amount of the losses were £37.6 million. I believe this would only be a problem if we were relegated from the Premier League as you see these days most clubs make losses. I mean you just have to look at Manchester United.

The Martin O’Neill saga is now going to an official tribunal at the LMA. Do we care anymore? Really? I would have been interested back in August, maybe running up to some time in November, when I still thought the sun shined out of the Irishman’s backside. But now in March, I’m not bothered. We’ve moved on and now we’re a different team with different mentalities and more worrying issues such as getting out of the bottom half of the table. I not saying I don’t care completely how he left but I’m more concerned why do it now at this time of the season? The LMA should just wait till the Summer especially if it could be a distraction to some of our senior players when they should be concentrating on football.

Now the Bolton game. There are so many mixed feelings about this game. We played very well and should have won but we just forgot how to defend corners, which Bolton and ex-Villa player Gary Cahill exposed us on. Time and time again we have not been able to finish off a team and it wasn’t more evident than at the Reebok. With Villa winning 1-2, the quick feet of Ashley Young cleverly won Villa a penalty. It was one of those goals where you say to the person next to you,’If we score this that’s it’. I knew Young wasn’t confident and didn’t even look up at the Bolton keeper. Mind games at their best were on show and Young lost as Jaaskelainen brilliantly saved down to his right. The rest was history. Ninety minutes up and we lost 3-2.

Disappointing to lose but still confident that we’re the best team in the bottom half of the table and we’ve just been unlucky. Relegation in my mind isn’t a worry. Well OK, it’s still niggling at the back of my mind which will just not go away. It’s not all bad. Birmingham are now in the bottom three and maybe this week will be more forgiving to the Villa, to the players and more importantly to the supporters.

Yesterday saw Aston Villa slump to another defeat to the hands of mega rich Manchester City. This leaves Villa one point above the relegation zone and with another  four goals conceded it leaves Houllier’s boys with a minus 14 goal difference, joint worst in the league.

What has gone wrong at Villa Park? For the last few seasons Villa have prided themselves on having such a strong defense. Yet again I awoke this morning to see rumours that Villa could be selling Richard Dunne and Curtis Davies. I don’t understand why they are so eager to sell other senior players this January. We need to keep the squad until we are safe and then think about selling the players at the end of the season but then again there are others that believe the ‘out with the old and in with the new’ will get Villa out of this messy situation.

After 30 minutes yesterday Aston Villa were 3 down and it was looking like we were heading for another 6 nil hammering. My first reactions after the game was to sack Houllier before it gets so bad and there’s no turning back. At the minute there are two managers available who I believe would do a better job then Houllier.  Martin Jol and Sam Allardyce are the two that come to my mind. After speaking to a number of Villa fans who went to the game yesterday the first thing they all said were that Villa didn’t have a bad starting eleven on paper but they played like they didn’t have a clue. To me that comes from the manager. Recently we’ve had the transfer request from Stephen Ireland and the changing room bustups. This shows the manager has lost the dressing room and the confidence from the players. West Ham are in a worse position than Villa but Junior Stanislas came out publicly and gave his backing and the rest of the teams backing to Avram Grant after the Blackburn game. No one at Villa have come out to give their backing to the manager.

Going away to Manchester City we should have played our most experienced team. We started with Barry Bannan up against the likes of Yaya Toure and Nigel De Jong. Yes Bannan is one for the future but he hasn’t got the ability to play against these two world class midfielders. Whats wrong with Robert Pires? If he can play why his he on the bench with all his experience and we’re playing youngsters? He’s getting 10 minutes a game and he’s not being able to show if he still has it. I know he started against Arsenal but he wasn’t fit back then.

On Sunday we play away at Stamford Bridge and I am really worried of a Chelsea backlash. I would be a little more optimistic if we were at Villa Park but I can’t see anymore than a Chelsea win.

My Prediction Chelsea Win 3-0.

If you would have told me at the start of the season that by the end of December Aston Villa’s big summer signing Stephen Ireland would have been a flop and James Milner had made the worst decision of his career by moving to mega rich Manchester City then I would have laughed off any suggestions. But as we enter the latter stages of the Christmas period this could be no wrong.

This week saw Mr Ireland come clean in expressing his desires to leave Villa Park after 4 dismal months. As a Villa fan I was actually happy to see the Milner transfer go through because we were able to purchase such a fine player in exchange. How wrong could I have been. Ireland’s performances on the pitch have been dreadful and instead of rolling up his sleeves and digging deep he’s opting to leaving the club for pesters new. Gerard Houllier should grant him his wish and let him go Ireland as never looked comfortable at Villa and as always looked disinterested when wearing the claret and blue jersey.

I would easily accepted five million pounds for the midfielder and not a penny less. Put this with the five million we earned from the Milner deal and we have a good 10 million to spend on a good midfielder. Recent reports have linked us with Juventus and former Liverpool player Mo Sissoko. This in my opinion would be a good signing as he already as Premier League experience and could easily adapt to Villa defensive formation and style of play.

I also believe that shipping out Ireland would also improve the changing room atmosphere. I’m not pointing any fingers but when Ireland was a City he didn’t get on with the manager and whilst on International duty he quit because he didn’t get along with the Irish senior squad. Over the last 20 years whilst I’ve been a Villa fan I’ve never heard of any changing room bust ups but it was made publicly by young midfielder Barry Bannan in a recent television interview. I’m just saying it’s a big co-incidence, don’t you think?

Anyway onto James Milner. Every time I talk about Milner to others football fanatics I always tell the story of that cold Tuesday night at Wigan last season. Milner was playing centre midfield and Villa were still in a shout for fourth position. With the score at 1-1 Milner popped up with the winning to secure Villa all three points. That evening Milner ran his socks off and looked as good as any Steven Gerrard or Frank Lampard. On Monday Night I watched him again start on the right wing for City. This position does not suit Milner one bit, he gets isolated and sticks to the touch line. It saddened me to see this as I still believe that Milner is England’s future and his not being able to show his abilities down the middle under manager Roberto Mancini. Lets hope Milner gets unhappy at City and wants a quick return to Villa Park. Well you can dream can’t you.

The boxing day fixture sees the visit of Tottenham. Again and I bet you lot will be sick of me saying this but I believe that we will come away with all three points. Villa have been poor of late but we did secure a crucial win against rivals West Brom which will definitely boosted confidence. Spurs in the league have been performing brilliant at home this season, this not so much away from White Hart Lane with a number of draws against the likes of Bolton and Birmingham City. I’ve not seen any team news yet but the return of Emile Heskey and Gabriel Agbonlahor up front will strengthen Villa.

My prediction 2-1 Villa win.

This week saw Gerard Houllier make Robert Pires his first signing since arriving as Aston Villa manager. Back in 2001 Pires was labelled one of the best players in the world. He was winning trophies with club and country but that was nine years ago and the 37 year old legs just don’t have the pace any more but as we have seen with players such as Ryan Giggs and Clarence Seedorf, a footballing brain always gets better with age and this can only be good for Villa’s young squad.

I’ve been a avid spectator of the La Liga for the last six or seven seasons now and I’ve watched Pires almost every week for Villareal. When he first arrived at the club he didn’t make the impact that we all thought he would but for the last three seasons he’s been moved into the middle of midfield and just like a fine wine Pires got better with age. His patience play and skilful passing are just a few things that have dazzled some of Spain’s top defender’s and this is something I’m looking forward to seeing at Villa Park.

Pires could make his Villa debut on Saturday against Blackburn and his arrival will be a boost for Monsieur Houllier’s squad which has been depleted this last month by injuries to strikers John Carew and Emile Heskey, and midfielders Stiliyan Petrov, Nigel Reo-Coker and Steve Sidwell. Villa’s assistant manager Gary McAllister believes the signing of Pires will be beneficial to the promising youngsters at the club and I couldn’t agree more. The Frenchman’s knowledge should be welcomed by all the youngsters but welcomed with open arms from winger Marc Albrighton who’s performance against Manchester United last week showed just why he’s tipped as one of England’s next superstars.

After last weeks performance I was proud to be a Villa fan. The youngsters dug in deep and really took the game to Fergie’s world beaters and should have walked away with all three points but like always United played poorly but still got a point from a game that was dominated by Villa. I know Albrighton got all the applause for his man of the match performance but there were two midfielders who were overlooked by the reporters and TV pundits. Jonathan Hogg and Barry Bannan were playing centre midfield up against Darren Fletcher and Michael Carrick. You’d think it would be a total mismatch. Think again. The two youngsters didn’t look out of place and really made the United midfielders look average at best.

Another boost for Villa’s squad was the return of Gabriel Agbonlahor. Having him up front gives Villa a complete different style and a more positive style than when we have Heskey or Carew up top. Last week we were playing the balls down the channels and using Gabby’s pace and strength at full force. Agbonlahor played as a lone striker and proved a real handful for United’s defenders. I’ve always been a believer that when Agbonlahor’s plays Ashley Young is given an extra yard or two with the ball which is always dangerous with a player of such talent which he showed last Saturday in the second half where he terrorised the oppositions defence.

This week sees Villa travel to Ewood Park to face Blackburn Rovers. Sam Allardyce’s team are a very inconsistent team where one week their winning comfortably away at Newcastle but then get trounced at Spurs the following weekend. I believe Villa will come away with all three points especially after last weeks performance which should have given the squad a real morale booster. If we score early we could win the game comfortably just like Spurs did last week but if we sit off players like Morten Gamst Pedersen and David Dunn then we could get punished. My prediction Villa 2 – Blackburn 1.

With the injuries piling up at Villa Park the youngsters have been given a chance by Aston Villa boss Gerard Houllier. Marc Albrighton broke into the team under care-taker boss Kevin McDonald but now youngsters Barry Bannan, Ciaran Clark and Nathan Delfouneso have been given a run in the first team and the Villa kids were pivotal to the 3-2 win over Blackpool.

As a Villa fan its been tough watching this year and when DJ Campbell scored in the 87th minute I thought it was going to be another Fulham and Stoke match when we just didn’t have the killer instinct to kill off the game. That was until James Collins and my vote for Villa’s Player of the Year so far popped up with a bullet header. I’ve always been a big fan of the Welsh international and after his late winner his popularity will surely increase with the rest of the Villa faithful.

Villa have always prided themselves on their youth development bringing through players such as Gabriel Agbonlahor, Craig Gardner, Liam Ridgewell, Gary Cahill, Steven Davis, Darius Vassell and, as far back as Lee Hendrie, producing some of Britain’s best footballers. Now Marc Albrighton is being named as the next talent to come off the Villa youth conveyor belt.

Albrighton has been a revelation this year and the young winger has shown some fantastic potential that has had his name linked with future England caps. Last week at Fulham, Albrighton was the best player on the park turning Fulham’s Mexican international left back inside out. The winger then went and topped off his performance with a goal. It’s a shame the game will now not be remembered for the performance of Albrighton but for the late equaliser from Fulham’s tall defender Brede Hangeland.

The name on all the Villa fans lips after Wednesday nights performance is striker Nathan Delfouneso. He looked dangerous with pace and an eye for goal I haven’t seen since Gabriel Agbonlahor burst onto the scene a few years back. All night he was on the shoulder of the Blackpool centre half’s waiting for the killer pass to set him free. This was evident when Delfouneso confidentally scored Villa’s second. His performance could have been — no, should have been — completed with a second after the referee disallowed a a perfectly good header for the striker and that would have been a third for Villa and would have finished Blackpool off. Instead we had to go through the anguish of a late winner.

The last two Villa games have been a better improvement from the dour performance against Birmingham a fortnight ago. I believe this happened because of the introduction of the young players to the starting eleven. There’s definitely a sense of no pressure from the youngsters competing for places and that’s rubbing off onto the senior players who have performed well.

This weekend the youngsters are going to have the biggest test of the their short career so far when they come up against Manchester United. I am pretty confident that we can come away with the three points on Saturday as we have home advantage and Alex Ferguson in the past has said on more than one occasion that the trip to Villa Park is the hardest away game of the season. This Saturday will prove if Alan Hansen was right when he said “you can’t win anything with kids.” Or will we be saying the kids are all right on the night?

It will be some time before Liverpool supporters know what we’re getting with John Henry and NESV, but we can at least bask in the joy that comes with departure of tweedle-dee and tweedle-jackass: Mr Tom Hicks and Mr George Gillett.

For us, the news of their ousting as club owners was like having our doctor tell us we had one week to live only to announce a week later that whatever we had was actually curable and, though it may be a long recovery, the future looks bright and we can be fully fit again given time. It was tense, waiting to see if the sale would go through and whether or not the club would go into administration and be (amongst other disasters) fined nine points off an already dismal table standing. But Hicks and Gillett lost their court case and dropped their restraining order against proceedings. They are still threatening to sue, but hopefully any and all sensible judges will continue with the recent trend of shrugging off the inanity of these douchebags desperate attempt to salvage a profit from the club they abused and misused these past couple of years.

Now, I can’t promise that Mr Henry and his gang are the absolute answer to all our prayers and concerns. But I feel confident they can’t be worse than Hicks and Gillett’s wrenching  real life Punch and Judy Show. Liverpool are bloodied and battered. But as a life-long (spiritually tortured) Red Sox fan, I have a stoic sense of optimism following the entry of Henry and NESV. The Red Sox went 86 years without a title until Henry came in and bolstered the roster into a winning side. The Sox took home titles in 2004 and 2007. Henry and NESV rightfully take the credit for transforming the club and restoring its long-lost winning ways.

Henry may not prove to understand football any better than those outgoing muppets (time will tell us), but he understands that investing in a team means investing to win. He understands this isn’t a short-term relationship. Hicks and Gillett never had the competence to understand that only by serving the needs of Liverpool FC would they serve themselves. Henry at least understands that restoring the team to winningness is the most important step. But this is the model he applied to the Red Sox and I trust him to apply it to Liverpool FC as well. Whether he gets all the other important details will remain to be seen. But I hope my fellow supporters give him and his crew the benefit of the doubt and wait until he proves otherwise to lump them in the category of “More Dipshit American Owners.”

Hicks and Gillett’s major flaw has nothing to do with being American. This is incidental. They are simply bad people and bad businessmen. I mean, half of them were once in business with George W Bush. That must be a sure sign of fiscal apocalypse. The fact that they are now trying to sue to make up for squandered profits is a farce. They ran Liverpool badly. There must be no financial reward.

By the time this article goes up, I’ll be at my pub in Cambridge, Massachusetts, waiting for the kickoff against Everton. Supposedly, camera crews from BBC, ITV and CNN will be there as well, covering the reactions of Boston-based Liverpool supporters. It’s been a surreal experience as my home base for watching matches has garnered loads of attention since the Red Sox connection first materialized.

In fact, before Hicks and Gillett’s day in the high court last week, John Henry himself swung by the pub. I couldn’t be there, but my friend Tim implored him to run the club the right way and impressed him with stories of the massive turnouts at our pub (i.e. standing room only against Manchester United at 8am our time in a blizzard – my first year in Boston).

But through all the fanfare, I’m sure the local Boston Liverpool faithful (most of whom are no strangers to Fenway Park) will turn out and focus on the thing that will be most important to us for ninety minutes this morning: the result against Everton.

Erased debt, avoided administration and the ousting of those cancerous men are huge consolations to LFC supporters worldwide. But three points against the Blues at Goodison simply can’t be touched.

(Note: Thanks to JBM for inspiring the Waldorf/Statler styled drawing of Hicks and Gillett with his comment from my last diary entry.)

John Henry: Next LFC Owner?

In a handful of days we’ll know whether or not Liverpool FC will have new owners. Whether or not the club will go into administration and be deducted nine points. Whether or not the club will shed the debt Mssrs Hicks and Gillett have accrued during their disastrous tenure as owners. This week feels like the final act in a clichéd sports film. 

It has all the key elements of big screen melodrama. There’s the team that struggles on the pitch (6 points from seven matches and losing 1-2 to Blackpool). The villains who seem determined to ruin the organization (Hicks and Gillett). Impending doom off the pitch (administration and the nine-point deduction). The potential saviors (John Henry and New England Sports Ventures). The late plot twist (Peter Lim, the Singapore billionaire who seems ready to swoop in and buy the club given a chance). The late drama (the eleventh-hour court case). 

For me and other Boston-based LFC supporters it has been a surreal week. The idea that the owners of the Boston Red Sox could be the ones to take over the club and erase the debt is mind-boggling. Endless messages from friends who don’t even follow the sport, asking Can I believe it? Tim and Miranda, friends I watch matches with, were quoted in the Boston globe (here and here). My friends Niall and Eric were interviewed on Sky Sports. I’ve been following the club’s victories and struggles from such a distance. But whether or not the deal goes through, Liverpool, for now, feel very close to home. 

As if the initial drama isn’t enough to make my head implode, thinking that my two beloved teams could be connected like that. That NESV, the organization that brought so much talent and drive to the Red Sox and finally ended the 86-year title drought could potentially apply the same magic to Liverpool… 

But I may be falling too deep into the arms of sentimentality. This is a time in desperate need of pragmatism. Swift pragmatism. 

The concern now is avoiding administration, shedding Gillett and Hicks and moving on with our lives. If a marriage to NESV turns out to be right for the club, I’ll be ecstatic. If Peter Lim takes over and provides the funds to settle debts and make transfers and so on, I can live with that. But something must be done soon. 

Hicks and Gillett have been a plague of stupidity and greed. Even in the end they were reportedly trying to sack board members and install Hicks’ son and the VP of Hicks Holdings to override the votes and block the sale. They are truly villains. They came with no knowledge of the sport, no respect to the culture, and complete disregard for the club’s history and traditions. Get out of Liverpool, gentlemen. And take the stench of black death with you.  

The case goes to court today. I pray the judge allows the sale to go through and I pray things can be wrapped up before administration puts Liverpool into negative points on the table. I pray that these off-the-pitch distractions can be resolved and the players can focus on playing football and start turning their fortunes around. 

(In the meantime, keep an eye out for Hollywood’s overblown version of this saga, starring Matt Damon as Steven Gerrard, Jude Law as Jamie Carragher, Sir Ian McKellen as Martin Broughton and Daniel Craig as Kenny Dalglish.)

After Liverpool’s goalless, soulless visit to Birmingham the previous weekend, I expected Manchester United to annihilate as literally as possible within the law (I hear it’s a four-match ban for an actual multiple homicide on the pitch). These days in the league, we’re languid, disorganized, uninspired. I had no right to expect anything less than a total routing at Old Trafford. But somehow I allowed myself to hope for a draw. A point at Old Trafford might be attainable. After all, United haven’t exactly been at their world-beating best. They blew that lead to Everton in stoppage time. They drew to Rangers midweek. Rooney didn’t look anywhere near his classic best. There was some hope.

At our pub there was a good turnout of mostly Liverpool supporters. Either they are all football masochists like me, or they are better at calling up some serious optimism in desperate times like this. The truth is we’re addicts and since the match was on Fox Soccer Plus, few of us could get our fix at home. During a big match like this, the supporters gravitate to the different ends of the bar. Most of the Liverpool regulars take over the far end, filling out the surrounding stools and tables and, in the end, taking over a good three-quarters of the pub. I am too nervous to sit and you’ll find me near the service station, trying to keep out of the waitstaff’s way as I shift from one foot to the other and curse at the television. The United supporters tend to take over the televisions near the door, securing a nook for themselves. The familiar faces from each end get wound up during match time, taunt each other with shouts and songs, and (usually) shake hands afterwards and exchange a few brief words in forced politeness. But during the match, we stay in our end. They stay in theirs.

But Sunday one dude planted himself at the very heart of the Liverpool side of the bar. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had nothing to do with football and he made very little noise in the first half, so I just assumed he was a Liverpool supporter. What United fan would stand among so many Carlsberg- and Standard Chartered-laden kits when the other side was teeming with AIG? But when Berbatov scored his first, this dude threw up his hands and shouted his praise. After had the lead, he had plentyto say. “C’mon, United! Get another! C’mon, Berba!”

Whether we are winning and losing, as more and more Boston Liverpool supporters discover the Phoenix Landing, I take pride in the fact that we outsing any other section of supporters. So if the kits and colors weren’t enough, I was very surprised that the lone United fan remained among us as we filled the room with “The Fields of Anfield Road” and “Poor Scouser Tommy”. The supporters in his radius were slowly getting annoyed with his cheering and comments. I couldn’t decide whether or not I should ignore him or outright suggest he go to the other end. Dude, I think you’ll have a much more enjoyable time down there. Seriously.

He wandered off at half-time. I figured he figured it out.

I was still clinging to the distant hope of a draw. As long as we didn’t let United score another. They had had most of the ball, but we had staved them off plenty and were showing good passing when we did get the ball. If we could reorganize and find some new angles, we could bang out that equalizer and go home with a point. Honestly, I just wanted us to score. I didn’t expect a win, but I wanted that feeling of shouting my head off and jumping and sloshing all that coffee through my veins at nine in the morning (I was driving up to see family later and thus avoiding beer). If we could keep them from scoring…

Then that damned Berbatov happened again.

There was no defending it. The tall Bulgarian was backed into the Liverpool defender, seemingly no room to work. He met the ball with a stunning bicycle kick and fired it off the bar just out of Pepe’s reach and it went in. What???

And just behind me, there was that dude again. Draining his lungs into my right ear. “BERBA!!!!”

Granted this is the kind of goal from an opposition striker that leaves me as awed as devastated. If I could remove myself from having my heart ripped out of my chest from behind for a minute I could, as a lover of beauty, grace and sport, say: That was a breathtaking goal!

But mostly I just wanted to crawl under the nearest bar stool, curl up into a fetal position and suck my thumb.

The state we were in – the way we’ve been playing this season – I could not fathom us coming back from two-nil down against United in their house. Then it was Torres streaking into the box. Then it was Jonny Evans taking him down. And it was Howard Webb blowing his whistle. Our section of the room exploded. Shouts of “C’mon, Stevie!” spattered the air. Steven Gerrard ran up to the spot and buried the ball behind Van der Sar. The noise around me was deafening. We jumped. We screamed. We sang. It was heaven.

Even if we didn’t get another, I’d had that moment. A flash of clear sky in our overcast sense of things. And then a handful of minutes later, in a tackle that somehow didn’t invite a straight red card, O’Shea took Torres down twenty yards from goal. Again it was Gerrard on the dead ball. Again we jumped. We screamed. We sang. The United fan was finally looking jostled and uncomfortable. But he stood his ground. And so did his side.

The momentum felt like it had completely swung Liverpool’s way. I now felt like a draw was inevitable, but a late winner (for us) was still a real possibility. Our boys were fired up. Torres was determined. Gerrard was dictating attacks. Joe Cole was everywhere. Johnson began remembering how to turn a defender. Poulsen stopped looking invisible and started making sleek, first-touch passes. We could do it!

Then our defense crumbled yet again. And of course it was who else but Berbatov putting head to ball at the far post and putting United ahead with only a few minutes remaining.

Our “friend” went crazy once again. He stretched his arms high and gave thanks for Dimitar Berbatov. A friend of mine finally snapped and turned on him. He needed an outlet for his mounting frustration and here was a vocal United supporter two feet away.

“Why don’t you go down there with the other c*nts!” he shouted at the dude.

The United fan threw his hands in the air and started singing: You are a Scouser! A dirty Scouser!

And that’s when I lost it. My earlier thoughts of (somewhat) politely suggesting he went to the other side of the bar quickly shattered. At least one of my Scouse friends was in earshot. I felt offended by proxy. “Fuck off, man!” I said.

“He started it!” said the dude, turning into a five-year-old and pointing at my friend.

“I don’t care,” I said. Trying to regain my composure. “Go down there!” I pointed.

“I’m watching here,” he said. “I’m not moving.” He folded his arms and fixed his eyes on the television above me.

Whatever. I turned back to the match. I didn’t get it. I knew I wouldn’t want to stand amongst the opposition. Win or lose. Not during play. I wanted to be with my fellow supporters. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t too. But I decided there was no future in debating the matter.

I turned back and watched the rest of our loss. When the final whistle blew, the United fan took of immediately and headed straight for the door.

That’s when I caught on to the serious tension that had been building behind me. My friend Jamie thumbed after the disappeared dude. “Did he threaten you, mate?”

What? No. I shook my head. “He was just being annoying,” I said.

“I thought he asked you  if you wanted to ‘start something.'”

“No,” I said. Trying to think which sentence Jamie had misheard. Must have been when he said, “He started it!” As I recounted the conversation, two other friends were leaning in to get the scoop. Apparently there were three or four guys who were watching the dude toward the end in case he tried to fight me and they were ready to jump in on my behalf. “He was just looking for a battle of words,” I said. “Nothing more.”

We sighed as the United supporters drifted out. The couple of them that we knew wandered over to shake hands and say, “See you next time.”  The tension lifted and the post-match depression set in. My friends stuck around to discuss the match, the side, Roy Hodgeson, the new signings.

It’s been a miserable start alright. But I still feel if the new signings can build a chemistry with the old guard, if Torres can get fit (and not get sold), if Hodgeson can get the most out of what he’s got, this season isn’t lost yet. And while I’m not for segregation in most social situations: will the United supporters kindly keep to your end of the pub when we face off in March? Thank you so very much.

The kid is back.

Throughout last season, Liverpool supporters groaned as Fernando Torres fell again and again into the arms of Ol’ Mistress Injury. We groaned throughout the summer’s World Cup as he looked far from his best and couldn’t find a single goal (although we also groaned when Pedro ignored a wide open Torres to take a fruitless chance of his own against Germany). And we nearly had a heart attack when Torres collapsed in the closing seconds of the final against the Netherlands. The kid made us feel a little better when he threw the Liverpool scarf around his neck before hoisting the World Cup trophy. But mostly we groaned.

This season started slow for both Liverpool and Fernando Torres. (Maybe he’s literally a different player: now that his hair is short and dark I can’t always pick him out on the pitch when the camera’s pulled back. Maybe it’s not Torres at all…) Anyway: more groaning. I can’t complain too heartily about the results themselves. A draw against Arsenal and a loss to City cannot come as too big a surprise after all the misery of last season. The points aren’t the end of the world. But it’s the way we came to those results that kills me.  Dropping the two points against the Gunners with a late own-goal. Losing three-nil to City in a performance that had less spark than a box of matches in a bowl of water. In the opening league fixtures, Torres looked a crumpled, spent version of his former self. The side looked drab and aimless.

Oh. Please. Not. Again. I can’t take another season as bad as the last.

After a good win in Turkey this past Thursday, Liverpool took on West Bromwich Albion. Here was a chance to get our momentum back, I thought. A good hiding of the newly (re)promoted Baggies will help Liverpool find the match confidence to get the League campaign a much needed boost. Six-nil, I said.

“Six nil?” said my Irish friend Kevin, owner of the pub where we watch the matches. “Ha. I don’t know what team you’ve been watching. I’ll be happy with three points.”

One-nil, said Kevin.

And for most of ninety minutes, we looked awful. Again: no spark. No drive. Where was the urgency of 2005’s comeback against Milan? Where was the determination of the 2008/2009 season? It evaporated in the sere desert of last year. The main problem, as I saw it, was in the midfield. Once again, Liverpool were relying far too much on Lucas Leiva. While I think the young Brazilian has improved somewhat since his arrival, he will never ignite an attack like Xabi Alonso could and he’ll never provide the defensive backbone of Javier Mascherano. Asking him to fill either of these roles is futile. Xabi and Javier are gone. Lucas Leiva is only Lucas Leiva. This is not the team’s only problem. But on the pitch, it is one of the biggest ones.

I spent most of the match screaming from a bar in Boston, Massachusetts at Roy Hodgson to take off Lucas and put in Ryan Babel. Pull Gerrard back into the midfield to take command. Give Torres some support up front.

But then, in the final half-hour of play, Mssrs Kuyt, Gerrard and Torres suddenly seemed to switch themselves on. There had been no major tactical change except for switching Kuyt to the left side. These three began creating dynamic triangles of movement and passing. They kept finding each other in dangerous spaces. They were running West Brom ragged.

Liverpool only scored one goal, but it was insanely gorgeous. Dirk Kuyt found Fernando Torres. Torres pushed the ball out wide for Kuyt.  Torres hung back in the box and Kuyt launched a perfect cross into his path. El Niño struck the volley. The ball bounced sharply and flew into the net.

Dirk and Nando slid to their knees into hugging each other. Nando slapped Dirk on the back continually. The goal was something perfect they’d made together.

Our pub erupted. We slapped away the tension that had kept us quiet throughout the match. We sang the Torres song.

Fer-nan-do Tor-res: Liverpool’s Number Nine!!

Looks of relief circulated the room. In the end it meant all three points. Kevin was right about the scoreline. I was wrong but: whatever. We had the win.

It is somewhat comforting that three potentially clutch players were watching from the stands. The suspended Joe Cole. The new signing Raul Meireles. The expected new signing Paul Konchesky. And since Roy Hodgson has said he’d like to try to get one more striker in the door before the trade window closes tomorrow, he seems to know what the side needs. (I pray the move, if made, also involves Lucas Leiva going the other way.)

Even if he can’t bring someone else in, Hodgson seems intent on converting Ryan Babel back to the role of striker, which could be a wise and timely ploy.

The parts are falling into place. What this side needs now is a quick surge of chemistry between the newcomers and the veterans, and Hodgson needs to show he can get the most out of his squad the way he did with Fulham.

I think he can do it. We’ll see if I feel the same way in a few months.

In the meantime, Fernando Torres needs to dye his hair back to blonde. Oh yeah: and keep scoring.

Before we berate the dubious intentions of a prominent Stateside soccer broadcaster, we should probably first go through that bit where we say that the opinions of Mr Ethan Armstrong don’t necessarily reflect the opinions of EPLTalk etc etc.

There. Done.

And now…

Fail Fox Soccer Channel… What. The. Hell.

What is this Fox Soccer Tonight crap?

Okay. Granted: I could have done better research. When I realized I couldn’t watch the live match, I went to livesoccertv.com (as usual) to search for the replay broadcast and I found it was at eleven pm. I assumed this meant the match would be shown in its entirety. My mistake. I had avoided sports channels and ignored text messages for the entire day so I could watch the full Liverpool/Arsenal match with an untarnished mind only to find that Fox Soccer Channel was compressing the match into an hour in a format called Fox Soccer Tonight.

Seriously?

I put a lot of energy into avoiding the match result all day so I could watch the match in its entirety tonight. I am a football fan. I am not tuning in for a summary. I’m not here for highlights. I am here to watch two full hours of sport (not a large amount of time when you consider I am an American and I’ll spend four hours watching Baseball or that other thing we call football).

Ok. Whatever. I’ve waited for this. I guess I’ll take what I can get…

Going into this broadcasting travesty, I told myself that it’s like watching a bad satellite feed. If  I ignore the useless Fox graphic that pops in between the jumps in play, I can simply imagine that the signal has kicked out and that is why I am missing the vital action.

I will say, since Fox kept the final outcome out of my grasp until the very end, I was able to enjoy the normal amount of angst and suspense that I demand of an important football match. That’s about all I can say positively about the late presentation of this fixture.

Okay, it was a gripping match in its own right. Chances were there both ways. Liverpool kept a good shape throughout the match even after Joe Cole’s dubious and very painful sending-off.

Even down to ten men (and even with the limited information provided by Fox), I could see Liverpool’s intent and drive were pure and hearty. There were some problems here and there but we can iron out those wrinkles as the new players get to know the veterans. Good signs for the season to come.

Then Arsenal briefly lost their defensive footing and young David N’Gog latched on to a juicy ball. He was almost Torres-like: the angle and the distance from which he took his shot. Ker! Pow! And then the ball was bouncing around the back of the net. I leapt and shouted silent praise as if I were there at Anfield. (My roommate was sleeping in the next room, so I had to mute myself.) Ooh: we had it!!!, I thought loudly. Victory!

More things happened. Torres came on. Hope abounded.

Then another jump in the action from FSC. The final minutes. Suddenly the scoreline is 1-1. What???

BUT FOX NEVER SHOWED THE ARSENAL GOAL!!

We saw many substitutions in real time. We saw replays of attacks that came to nothing. But FSC couldn’t be arsed (pun intended) to show the equalizer. Thanks.

So my frustrations at the final result aside…

Here’s my real gripe this evening: Fox Soccer Channel was willing to show the Fox Soccer Report twice within four hours (when this program basically repeats itself halfway through – that’s one hour of repetition) and also aired Dream Team – a crappy soccer soap opera that’s about as useful to serious sports fans as a David Beckham fragrance line – but it couldn’t bother to show either the Liverpool/Arsenal or the Bolton/Fulham match in its entirety. (Both were compressed into an hour each. The latter is airing as I type this.)

So here it is…

Fox Soccer Channel: you do not understand your own demographic. Nobody needs the extraneous garbage.

When I first heard of you, I dreamed of watching countless matches – live and on tape-delay – and soaking up dozens of classic matches weekly. You came through somewhat this summer (giving into the ubiquitous World Cup frenzy no doubt) with great English Premier League replays and terse documentaries on legendary rivalries and players. But as we slip into the regular season, you’ve let us all down.

Now, if we allow that the information in the Fox Soccer Report is valuable (this involves pretending that we can’t get most of this news more succinctly in the Sky Sports hour, also shown on FSC), we still do not need to see it twice within the same hour. So that show can be cut in half. At least. And if Dream Team is valuable to any serious football fan, it could only be that to those stuck on transatlantic flights with nothing else to watch but the animated version of Garfield  or the latest installment to the Twilight saga (assuming they forgot to bring a book).

There. That’s two hours cleared from this evening’s schedule alone. You are welcome.

Am I bitter about the Joe Cole sending off and the two dropped points? Yes. Very much.

But am I wrong about this programming disaster? No. I am not.

So, I present a brief open letter to FSC:

Dear Fox,

Please show the day’s matches in their entirety later on in the day. Please show classic matches in their entirety all the time. Please show more profiles on players we care about. Cut out the garbage. Cut out the garbage. (I am repetitive on purpose to appeal to your program director’s repetitive nature.) Show football. Show it in its full glory and it its full time allotted by time and tradition.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m willing to forgive and move on. After all: I am a junkie and you have my fix. But let’s work on this together. I promise to soak up as much unadulterated football as you are willing to show. So please show more football. 

Keep in mind I come from an age when MTV played music videos and Comedy Central played comedians that were actually funny. So my standards are high. Help me out.

Sincerely,

Ethan

P.S. – Alright. I think I’m stuck working again for Liverpool’s match against Manchester City. I won’t get to see it live. So please try to have all this sorted out by then.

Thanks,

Ethan

Hours later, Tim (the other bartender; my fellow, burgeoning Liverpool fanatic; my brother-for-life) would lock the doors and dim the lights. Meanwhile, I rolled the vcr and projector out from the storage closet, threw the image on the wall and connected the sound to the house speakers. We poured ourselves fresh pints and sank into the deep couches in the corner by the fireplace. We took in the match with virgin eyes. We knew nothing. It was as if it was happening fresh. It was a good ten hours after the fact. 

And when Stevie G blasted that 86th minute free kick in from distance, we launched into the air as if the moment was current and alive. We hugged and shouted and jumped and spilled beer all over those leather couches. Our joy rattled against the empty corners of the pub as the Reds took all three points.

It remains my greatest Liverpool memory involving tape-delay.

Since then I’ve caught the openers (and most of the league fixtures) live. I’ve managed to keep all those Saturday and Sunday mornings and all those Monday afternoons (and other odd weekdays) in the clear from my various restaurant jobs.

But today was different. I’ve taken too many days off this summer for various commitments. I couldn’t rightly ask for today off without seeming to ask for too much in my first summer at a new job, nor could I afford to miss out on the income.

So I missed the live broadcast of Liverpool’s opener. And it was at home against Arsenal of all things.

So here I am. Ten o’clock at night. Eleven hours after kick off. Unaware. You, the reader, have likely tuned into this post to read the thoughts of an informed supporter. But, alas: you know more than I.

If Red hopes soared or sanked, I have no idea. I’ll put a drawing of Steven Gerrard up with this article in hopefullness that the captain made his mark on the outing, but I can’t know if he managed another moment of pure glory to echo that kick against Villa, or if he hung his head at the final whistle, dismayed by two or three points dropped. And it’s an old drawing. It actually comes from a photograph of him in a celebration of an England moment. But I like the drawing and I can’t risk googling a fresher image to model for a fresh illustration. The search could give away today’s result.

I made it most of today without even a chance of spoiling my late-night viewing of the match. I finished my shift and sat down to dine, ignorant, when a bar-goer wandered in in a distinctive red shirt. It was an early 90s Liverpool kit. Occasionally in Boston one runs into a casual fan in a Liverpool shirt, who vaguely likes the side but doesn’t keep up with the results. Red doesn’t mean dead when avoiding the result. But this dude couldn’t fall into that category. Not in a pristine kit from the days of Robbie Fowler. This man knew what was on today. He knew what happened.

I avoided him at first, afraid that even commenting on his jersey would bring on more information than I wanted on the match I’d yet to watch. But when I went to use the restroom some twenty minutes later, he was emerging. I couldn’t stop myself: Great kit, man!

Then – quick – before he could respond: Ihaven’tseenthematchyetdudepleasedon’ttellmeanything!!!!

He smirked.

Without disclosing any telling details, he talked about the side. Our hopes. Our concerns. All long term of course. I asked him where he liked to watch the matches. He reeled off a list of pubs that included my local. We agreed we’d bump into each other at the Phoenix Landing in Cambridge sometime soon.

But then… as he turned away… He said it: Take care. I think you’ll enjoy the match: it’s a good one.

What???

A good one? A good one how? We destroy Arsenal? Or at least win by a goal to nil? Or there’s late drama, no matter the result? Or it’s simply a good footballing contest?? What what what????

WHAT THE EFF DID HE MEAN???

Okayokayokay…

Collect thyself.

You know nothing.

In about an hour, I’m going to sit down, crack a beer and watch the match on Fox Soccer Channel when it is rebroadcast at 11pm EST. (Yes: I am the last football fan in America who doesn’t have DVR. I’m over it.)

Our starting XI are going to march out. I’m going to get chills. The match will commence and I (the blank slate) will take it in like it’s a live event.

This is not my favorite way. I’d rather be in the pub watching it live with my people.

But tonight: this is what I’ve got. C’mon, you Redmen.

I plan to start another article later this evening. I’ll write half of it during halftime. I’ll write the rest after the final whistle and post my thoughts in the morning. I may recycle the Stevie G drawing (if I’m too tired to whip up a more current, more relevant one), but at least my thoughts will be caught up to what you, the informed reader, already knows. The final result.

So it goes.

C’mon, you Redmen.

As far as I’m concerned you’ve yet to run out tonight.

And my hope for the event is still intact.

As they approach, once again, the 100 million pound mark in the transfer market, Manchester City and head coach Roberto Mancini still find facets of their team to dislike. Yet, for a team still searching for a striker to add to an already formidable attack, much respect is already deserved to what appears to be the most dangerous attacking third in the Premier League.

For title-winning clubs in the Premier League, the magic number of points is about 90. For the Citizens, not only is 90 a desire in the category points, but a high aim to shoot for in the category of goals scored. While Chelsea managed to hit the back of the net 103 times in 2009, City mustered up a total of 73, six behind fourth place finisher Tottenham. The unwritten answer may appear as a necessity of a more formidable defense, but for Sheikh Al-Mansour, the answer to defensive mishaps is millions of pounds worth of pure shot-firing, free-kick taking, goal scoring material.

With the likes of World Cup winner David Silva added and Robinho back in the squad that so eagerly marooned him last January, a strong attack once helmed by Mark Hughes’ brainchild Craig Bellamy and Sven Goran-Erikkson’s favorite overpriced Brazilian Jo now places the two strikers likely on their way out riding the bench, and possibly not making Mancini’s 25-man registered team.

Depth is something never lacking in a strong team, and the new look City team speaks nothing but the same. Starting with Emmanuel Adebayor and Carlos Tevez up front, who combined last year to score 43 goals for the Blues, more than half of their total goals in Premier League competitions. If three or even four men are preferred for Mancini’s tactical mind, or maybe just the scarf has been cutting of the circulation, the likes of Roque Santa Cruz, Robinho, and even Silva who has never hesitated to play up front all wait for their cracks at goal. Silva, who played few minutes for Spain in the World Cup campaign, came over to Eastlands for 30 million pounds, but this time plans on not letting himself be outshined by the likes of David Villa, who outscored him at Valencia in 2009, as well as in South Africa. With a determined Silva,  a punishing Bellamy, and rejuvenation seasons from Santa Cruz and Robinho, the attack will be more dominant than ever.

At City, versatility is a key in the strength to attack. As is becoming the trend in most of European football, Mancini prefers to play a game with wingers on their opposite sides and the usual one or two strikers. Most often, an attacking midfielder will end up in the middle, in front of powerhouse defensive midfielder (and dropkick extraordinaire) Nigel de Jong and now the Premier League’s newest brother combination, the Toures.   For the most part, that position is filled by the likes of Gareth Barry, but it seems there is hope for the likes of Stephen Ireland after strong preseason performances, and the acquisition of Villa’s James Milner still could be lying in the waits, as Martin O’Neil’s midfield slowly migrates its entirety to the blue side of Manchester.  From the inside spreads wide where the depth and strength of the title hopefuls exemplifies itself even further. Adam Johnson, Shaun Wright-Phillips, and Vladimir Weiss fill the wings in, while preseason looks and prior remembrance shows Mancini’s willingness to play Robinho, Bellamy, Ireland, and Silva (his natural position, nonetheless) out wide feeding the ball back inside to duly nicknamed Carlos “Energizer bunny” Tevez and Emmanuel “Fear my goal celebrations” Adebayor. The fun isn’t done there for City, though.

In recent weeks and months, many a name has been thrown around the transfer mill at Eastlands, the most promising of those including Inter Milan wonderkid Mario Balotelli, Don Garber’s favorite lover Landon Donovan, Fernando Torres, and the one last name I can’t pronounce in Wolfsburg’s Edin Dzeko. The possibility of adding the talents of one of the above to an already formidable attack could put City over the top. With those additions plus the likes of an improving come January, the power of an attacking Manchester City could provide a shock in this year’s Premier League.

And, look: in a few hours it will be ESP v NED. Who would have thought?

But I didn’t really believe the Dutch and Spanish would both be there.

So now how do I choose?

Spiritually, I’d be happy with either side winning the whole damn thing. But straddling the middle is not really a pliable option for the die-hard football fan. We must lean one way or another. I can’t glue myself to a 120 minute nil-nil affair without planting my heart on one side or the other… I might say I’m simply enjoying the action, but if I am honest with myself, I’m not getting the full experience. I must choose.

I mean, when my football-curious fellow Americans (you know the ones: they smell your passion and they almost want to come along for the ride, but they don’t quite get it yet…), well, when these folks ask me how I can sit through a goalless ninety-plus minute game, I explain: you have to be invested in one side or the other. When we understand that, the suspense is deafening. The fate of everything hanging in the air and the world ready to tumble apart over a single goal.

This is largely why I got involved in the bracket predictor. Normally, I play a little fantasy football during the league season. But gambling on sport isn’t really my thing. Sure, I’ll bet a beer on a match here and there (I don’t mind buying  a pint when I lose). And I have a bottle of whisk(e)y riding on each Premier League season (but when the loser gets to drink a third of the bottle he just bought for the other guy, it’s not that much of a gamble). But when my housemate asked if I wanted to get involved in the bracket pool he had going with his co-workers, I signed up. Not because I thought I could win it, but because by laying down money and having the chance to win based on each result meant I knew I’d pay closer attention to the fixtures where I didn’t have a strong emotional response for one side or the other.

Suddenly, Serbia/Ghana, Japan/Cameroon, New Zealand/Slovakia, Hondoras/Chile (etc., etc.) became as important to me as (well, not as USA/England but, you know…) Spain/Switzerland and Netherlands/Denmark.

I could side myself with one side or the other and let that suspense take it’s full toll.

And this is the thing that will flush today’s match out into the full experience.

Let’s say I already clinched my bracket (which would be the case if MANthony02 hadn’t had the foresight to put the Dutch in the final and pick them to win). I couldn’t place myself in one camp or the other.

I love the Dutch. Dirk Kuyt, with his dogged work ethic and ability to teleport all over the pitch. Arjen Robben’s nose for finding that perfect moment to twist in, lose his defender and launch a devastating blast on goal. Wesley Sneijder’s endless vision for that distant teammate or chance on goal. The hovering spirit of the 1974 and 1978 Dutch sides who came so close to World Cup glory but couldn’t seal the final deal. (If they win, we’re looking at an exorcism.)

But I love the Spanish. As a Liverpool man, it breaks my heart every time I see Xabi Alonso not in a Liverpool jersey, but I still love to watch him at work and he’s been on fire in this tournament. David Villa’s devastating instincts (not only is he on track for scoring the most goals in the tournament, but he’s easily scored some of the best). Iker Casillas’s ability to bend the laws of physics with his mindblowing, aerobatic stops. And while Fernando Torres hasn’t completely recovered from his knee surgery, I still feel like the man can find the back of the net at least once in this competition.

So without my bracket pool, I’d be torn. I couldn’t lean one way or the other. Dutch or Spanish? I wouldn’t know.

But I am going with Spain. Call me old fashioned, but when you have two of the best strikers on the planet, the best goalkeeper in the universe and a midfield so deep you can consistently justify playing Cesc Fabregas off the bench… you’ve got the edge.

Plus, if Spain win, I win: money. Of course, if I’d picked the Dutch (and I almost did) I would have already clinched the thing. But let’s not think about that.

I’m planting myself in Spain’s camp. If only for the course of the match. If I lose, I don’t lose so badly, because the Dutch deserve to win a World Cup already and I’d be happy for them – kinda like getting to drink part of the whisk(e)y I owe my friend for this past League season. But for the sake of suspense, for the sake of that thing that makes a good football match (and I know this will be an absolute classic) good, I’m picking a side. Winning a couple hundred bucks is as arbitrary as anything and downright minimal compared to that feeling (and we all know what I’m talking about), but the serious football lover must choose. And I have done so.

Olé.

The conclusion of the group stage this afternoon pushes the tournament into the win or go home stage.  No longer can games be capped at 90 minutes and a tie.  Now they can go a full 120 minutes with out a single goal before it is extended into the delicious realm of penalties.

Dreaded by almost every player out there; it would be surprising if there was single professional who says he enjoys settling a game this way.  The previous tie breaker was drawing of lots, so while PKs might not be ideal, they are far from the worst way.

The pressure of having to hit this massive net from only 12 yards out (something many of us could do in our sleep) often becomes too much and the results can be crushing.  Entire nations rest their hopes on a single shot and the results can propel players into stardom or infamy regardless of the rest of their career; see Grosso, Fabio or Baggio, Roberto.

The English know this all too well, having been sent home 5 times in the last 20 years after losing on penalties, mercifully never in a final though.  It is easy to understand why there might be a level of concern in the back of the collective mind of Three Lions supporters now that the tournament has reached this stage.

The point of this post is not to rub it in (I promise), but instead to shed some light on what years of PKs has taught us about how to succeed when it is your turned.

A NY Times article turned me on to a study of Penalty Kick success and failure from the Norweigian School of Sport almost a month ago.  Never is it more relevant than these two weeks every four years.

In brief (and from a few other cited stories at the bottom):

• Expectedly, success rates drop with each kick
  • 86.6% -> 81.7% -> 79.3% -> 73% and so on….
  • The author of the study calls this their major discovery because “It demonstrates so clearly the power of psychology.”  Personally, I thought that was obvious but I guess they like to quantify these things.

• There is a massive gap in success rates when the outcome depends on the kick
  • If making the kick means instant victory, 90% of them are successful
  • If missing the kick means instant defeat (aka a kick must be made to tie), only 60% are made

• It is also possible to help your teammate and hurt the opposition when it is your turn
  • Celebrating excessively after scoring both decreases the chances that the opponent going next will score and increases the chances that your own teammate will score in their next turn

• Timing matters as well, from the moment the whistle is blown…
  • Waiting under .2 seconds, players score 57.4% of the time
  • Waiting .3-.4 seconds, players score 77.8% of the time
  • Waiting .5-.7 seconds, players score 70% of the time
  • Waiting over 1.1 seconds, players score 81.1% of the time

There are some other insights in the articles; mindset, visualization, pressure.  It’s definitely a worthy read and will give you a little extra to think about when someone lines up this weekend with the weight of a nation on their shoulders.

NYTimes Article

WSJ Article

BioEd Online Article

Sources:

Keh, Andrew “A Few Things to Think About When Lining Up That Kick.”  New York Times 30 May 2010

Kelley, Austin “In Penalty Kicks, Tortoises Fare Better Than Hares.” Wall Street Journal 21 October 2009

Hopkin, Michael “Penalty kicks are all in the mind.” BioEd Online. 19 January 2007

Follow Adam’s thoughts on the US National Team’s run through the World Cup at his own blog.

Is this World Cup smoking crack?

It has been a strange one. Sure, there have been moments of  crisp, clear beauty (beginning with Siphiwe Tshabalala’s screaming torpedo of a shot in the first match), but for me the event has been overtaken by the surprises woven throughout. The unexpected moments and outcomes have ruled this group stage:

Robert Green allowing Dempsey’s strike to trickle in. Japan beating Cameroon. Italy’s struggles (going down a goal to nil to Slovakia as I write this). New Zealand scoring first and drawing with Italy. The Swiss beating the Spanish. North Korea putting up a good fight against Brazil before conceding seven goals to Portugal. The ball bouncing off Cristiano Ronaldo’s upper back and then his head before falling perfectly for him to bang it home. Germany losing to Serbia and missing their first regular play World Cup penalty kick since 1974.  The USA’s improbable comeback against Slovenia and the disallowed winner. Luis Fabiano using his arm twice while creating his goal against the Ivory Coast (and getting away with it!). David Villa missing the penalty after scoring two of the competition’s most insane goals. The French players skipping practice in protest and then losing to South Africa. My own country topping their group (What???) with a last minute goal from Landon Donovan. The new ball that seems to turn into a helium balloon as it nears goal, endlessly swooping upward in a strange revolt against the laws of physics.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining. I love this. I’ve needed this. I’ve longed for this. For me, this World Cup has been a much needed distraction from the league season. (And are these things really as strange as the unfathomable moments of 2006? Wayne Rooney’s stomp? The 16 bookings (4 red) in the Netherlands/Portugal match? The headbutt heard ’round the world?)

I realize there’s an inanity to describing the world’s biggest/greatest tournament as a distraction. But let me explain!

I’m addicted to Liverpool FC and last season was about as miserable as I could imagine (following a season bursting with such promise). After the Reds spent from August to May falling apart and falling short, I was having a serious football depression. While the World Cup fills me with passion as well, I can watch most of these matches objectively, and enjoy proceedings more than I fret over them. This is the ultimate football vacation (well, without going anywhere, at least).

Also, I am an American. I began with very modest expectations for my team. The Brazilians, Spanish and English can lose sleep over getting to the final. I have no such worries. When we came into the competition with big injury doubts (Altidore, Oneywu), I wondered if we’d survive the group stage. Yes, now we’ve done so (and even topped the group), but since my attitude had already been calibrated for utmost modesty on behalf of my nation, I’m still in the mode of enjoying the event for the event and enjoying the football for the football and letting anything else the US can cull from this come as unexpected, explosive joy. (Although, hope has been restored and now I’m dreaming of a trip to the semis, but let’s not jump too far ahead. Modesty remains.)

Not to say I haven’t stressed out about the USA’s individual matches. That was inevitable no matter how low I set my expectations.

For our first match against England, I took the day off from the restaurant and went down to my regular pub. The place was already packed tight by 9:30 am. I’d be all but losing my voice by our 2:30 pm kick-off. We began singing and shouting and cheering hours before the American and English players strode onto the pitch. Things heightened as the Argentina/Nigeria match began. There were a few people in Argentina shirts and I saw a couple cheering on Nigeria, but the room was mostly packed with Yanks. There was an electricity.

We sang, “USA Ain’t Nothin’ to Fuck With” to the tune of “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nothin’ to Fuck With”, we sang “When The Yanks Go Marching In”, and, when the sound kept cutting out on the ESPN feed, the entire room imitated the vuvuzelas in one long, congregational drone (here’s a clip of us on YouTube – that’s the top of my head directly in front of the camera – and yes, I’m sure this was far more entertaining for those of us who were there and saturated with pilsner). When the Argentina match began we booed every time Maradona appeared on screen. Some of us broke into singing/chanting, “Hand of God! Hand of God! Hand of God!” (An English friend shot me a skeptical glare through her white and red face paint as if to say, Is that one at Maradona’s expense or at ours?)

But in the end, none of these wounds mattered. We’d equalized with England. Robert Green unwittingly conspired with Clint Dempsey to bring us back on terms. I hardly remember the goal as I was immediately consumed by the room’s bouncing and screaming. Voice gone. Here go the eardrums. We were level on points. I felt sure both countries would win all the group’s remaining fixtures against Slovenia and Algeria and that we’d have a chance to top the group and avoid Germany if we could somehow manage a better goal differential than the English.

I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but my modest expectations were giving way to the sexy possibilities. I needed a reality check.

Then, in our second game, Slovenia scored two first half goals against us. That woke me up. I was watching from home this time, alone with a cup of tea instead of beer. I explained things to the cat: we couldn’t let Slovenia win. It would be horrible to allow them the points while denying ourselves. A draw was all I could hope for: three goals from the US seemed like too much to ask for in the time remaining. Could we even manage the two? But Bob Bradly made two changes at half time. A bold yet essential move.

And then in the 48th, it was Landon Donovan ripping down the right side, cutting in and slicing the ball into the roof of the net.

Then Bob made another substitution in the 80th (more attack!) and soon Michael Bradley was smacking the ball home. An early Father’s day present. We’d done it! We’d come back! We’d salvaged a point!

And, though time is nearly up, one starts to believe in something more. While not wanting to get too greedy (unless you’re a Slovakian fan – they just scored a second goal on Italy).  Could we get one more?

I hoped my downstairs neighbors weren’t home. I’d already bounced myself over our hardwood floors in unhinged glee twice. Once for Donovan. Once for Bradley. I shouted and stomped. I shook the floors. If the girls downstairs had any chandeliers in their place, I surely sent them crashing down from their mountings. Perhaps the girls were at least casual football fans and knew what my earthquakes meant. Perhaps the neighbor below them (a serious football fan) was watching at home and making a similar ruckus. (Actually, why didn’t I knock on his door? – he has a much bigger television than mine. Stupid.)

Anyway, when Maurice Edu latched onto the end of Donovan’s free kick and scored, I was in mid-air once again, but before I could bound across the apartment to celebrate in all the corners, I could see the look on Edu’s face. Why wasn’t he going crazy? I knew the answer before I knew the answer. The goal had been disallowed. I had to bottle up my joy. Upon seeing the replay, I was simply aghast. A perfect goal. No reason to whistle. Edu was onside. Any visible fouls should have been called against Slovenia, not us. We were screwed out of the two extra points with no reasonable explanation.

Hours later, England were drawing their match against Algeria. We still had hope. And if we could win our final match, we’d even have a serious chance to top the group.

I had to work during the simulcast of USA/Algeria, England/Slovenia matches. We have two TVs at the bar, but they can’t be set to separate channels. So we put USA/Algeria on, trusting ESPN to keep us up to date with the other match. Two of my customers lamented as news came that England were ahead. If nothing changed, we were out. That news along with the disallowed first-half US goal was making for a tense morning.

Time wore down. Attempts flickered out and died like a moth in a candle. Then, in the last breaths of stoppage time, Landon Donovan steamed in and put his foot through a deflected shot. Donovan slid to the ground to celebrate. The team piled atop him. We’d done it. And we topped the group by drawing Slovenia with more goals than England drew Algeria. In a few hours we’d confirm that we wouldn’t have to play Germany.

It’ll be us against Ghana. (Of course how we do may depend on how many American goals aren’t disallowed. You know how it goes.)

The USA getting through on top are just another in a long list of unexpected outcomes. Much like Italy getting dumped out this morning and about to follow their 2006 runners-up France in a sullen trip back to their continent (final score 3-2, with plenty of defensive help from good old Martin Skrtel).

What more can happen between now and July 11th?

So now, I sit down to flip between the first halves of the Netherlands/Cameroon and Japan/Denmark matches before I head in to work. And if Dirk Kuyt picks up the ball with his teeth, sprouts wings and literally flies home the winning goal, I won’t be surprised. It’s all within the realm of possibility in this tournament so far.

It’s a strange and beautiful World Cup. Keep it coming.

For most of the past two and half years I’ve enjoyed just about every Liverpool fixture live. No matter my late hours working in restaurants, I’ve usually been able to trek down to our pub (or at least roll out of bed and catch the matches that were on ESPN or FSC) and watch the action unfold as it happened. Gone were the days of waiting for somebody else to tape the match or catching it on a delayed broadcast after work. My work schedule fit my Liverpool schedule almost perfectly.

But now I’ve started a new job. A job that serves a renowned brunch on Saturdays and Sundays. Shifts I can no longer get out of for sure (and that are often too profitable to miss). So I’ve found myself missing the live broadcast more frequently.

The most recent was the match against Burnley.  I had to work Sunday morning. And since the match was on the new Fox Soccer Plus, which I don’t have, I knew I wouldn’t be able to tune into the rebroadcast at 8pm at home. So I called the pub in the morning and got Julie, the bartender, who promised to dvr the match for me. (And, no, my non-football-mad coworkers couldn’t fathom why I was popping outside to call another bar to tape something for me.)

Now, I was safe, at least for a few hours. The place where I work typically doesn’t have sports on unless a customer asks for a specific event. So there was no danger of me accidentally catching a scoreline scrolling across the bottom of ESPN or a highlight popping up on SportsCenter. Also, that morning’s dark skies cleared up and our patio became full of cheerful people out to enjoy the nice weather (and tip well). It was a good day.

I finished up work in the early evening, hopped on the bus and scooted down to the pub. While I would miss being in a roomful of fellow supporters with the sound on (another area where I’ve been greatly spoiled as a stateside lover of English football), at least I could watch the match with all the suspense of not knowing what was going on.

That’s when I ran into Marvin.

Marvin is a regular at the pub. Most of  the regulars I know, go to this pub because it’s one of the best pubs to watch our sport in the city. Many of us go specifically because one of the owners is a Liverpool supporter and has gladly allowed his pub to become the home of Boston’s LFC supporters club. Marvin (who’s name will be changed here because, while I doubt he frequents the internet, one never knows, and besides, if one is nice to Marvin, he loves to buy rounds on payday), however, goes simply because the pub is there. Yes, this is the oldest reason in the world people go to pubs, and I can’t fault Marvin for it. But my point is, Marvin and I are not on the same wavelength in terms of why we are there. But Marvin often happens to be there when Liverpool play. Just as he was earlier in the day. Something that becomes clear as I ask if the bartender will put my match on.

“Oh, Liverpool?” says Marvin, leaning sociably in my direction. “They won, didn’t they?”

Shit.

The last several hours of avoiding foreknowledge and suppressing anticipation was all for nothing. They won, didn’t they. Then, something occurs to me that brightens my night and renews my ability to watch my match with full enjoyment. Marvin almost never knows what he’s talking about. Yes, he may well have seen the result today and be giving away the ending. But it is also entirely possible that he is thinking of a match from earlier in the week. Or earlier in the month. The year. This is how aloof Marvin almost always is. (Something else I can’t fault Marvin with. I tend to be the same way with family events and brief acquaintances’ first names.) Hell, Marvin could be thinking of another team. He might be thinking of Manchester United beating somebody. Or Arsenal. He could be thinking of the last time the Boston Celtics won the NBA title. Or the Red Sox winning the World Series[sic]. He could be thinking of Sandra Bullock winning the Oscar over Meryl Streep!

It really doesn’t matter. What matters is I put enough doubt in my own mind about Marvin knowing what the result was. I was like the jury and the seed of reasonable doubt had been planted. Now, I could tune in and watch Steven Gerrard, Maxi Rodriguez and Ryan Babel score four goals against Burnley and truly feel like nothing had been spoiled for me. Maybe Marvin saw it all coming, but I didn’t care.

Fortunately, I don’t have to take any risks today. I’m off to watch the second leg against Atletico. And this time I’m watching live.

Eyjafjallajokull. Yes this is what comes out when I drink too much coffee and then absentmindedly drum my fingers on the keyboard without looking. But it’s also the name of the Icelandic volcano that has been spewing ash into the air causing flight bans in Europe and disrupting travel all over the world. Thousands of people have been stranded. Airlines are in crisis, forced feed and house grounded travellers while flights are backlogged. Families wait for wayward loved ones to come home. Businesses adjust to gaps left by employees in absentia. Actually, the two gentlemen who own the restaurant where I work are stranded in Amsterdam. (Yes, there are worse places to be stranded, but my other bosses have been working double hours to keep the place on track. They need sleep.) It’s crazy how one little Eyjafjallajokull can affect so many. But today all I can think of is the toll it has taken on my beloved Liverpool FC. I’m selfish like that.

On top of being without Fernando Torres (who longed to face his old club in their home ground), the Reds also have had to travel most of the journey to Madrid by coach and train to face a much fresher Atletico side. You can imagine it: you from bus to train, train to bus. The stress of keeping your schedule. The cramped spaces. Ryan Babel trying to force his headphones around your ears for the 200th time in 24 hours with another obscure Dutch hip-hop track that you’ve just got to hear.

And even if Liverpool can cope with the journey and the break in their routine, Madrid remain the most formidable opponent they’ve faced since ducking out of the Champions League. Even if we had been able to pop down there by plane with a more standard on-the-road-in-Europe routine, I’d have my reservations about this match. Thankfully, this is the first of two legs, so what I’m really hoping for here is a draw with at least one away goal. Of course I tend to give myself over to unsubstantiated optimism at times like these, but after beating West Ham 3-0 without Torres, I feel like we can score at least one on the road, no matter how coach-lagged we may be, and keep their chances relatively low. Then we’ll win it at Anfield.

So here goes: two-two. We score early. Dirk Kuyt knocks home a rebound off Stevie’s blocked shot. Forlan equalizes before half time. Then Reyes scores one in the middle of the second half. Yossi tricks his way into the box to slot home the final goal just before stoppage time starts. All this sparks a chain of events leading to the next owners shelling out the cash for Kun Aguero in the summer, who will score Madrid’s only goal in the 3-1 at Anfield. Torres has the fittest season of his career next season and the two strikers combine for 76 league goals, winning every…

Okay. I’m getting carried away.

Let’s just start with Dirk Kuyt’s opening goal and go from there.

In my last post I asked that we maintain the good form, no matter what the outcome of the season. I should have added we must cling to clear-headed decision making from now to the end. The last two outings for Liverpool were derailed by bad judgement by Ryan Babel and (and I rarely say this in writing) Rafa Benitez. We cannot afford such setbacks. Our remaining season goals were brittle enough going into these two matches. Now what?

The first is an easy one. The first Benfica leg. What the hell were you thinking, Babel? The whistle was blown. The free kick was given. The player who tackled Torres was booked. Why would you ever put a hand to his face when you know the consequences? Alright, go in there and give him hell for roughing up your teammate. Yes. But keep your hands to yourself! Suddenly a match we were stamping our mark on (an offbeat, handsome goal from Agger already in and other chances in the works) was now in Benfica’s control. Of course the attention-starved ref might have been determined to change the match for Benfica later on, calling strange infringements while letting Benfica continue to beat up Torres without too much in the way of punishment. But nevertheless, there was no excuse for Babel to give the official such a simple excuse to reduce us to ten. If  Babel had stayed on, I can’t swear that we would have beaten Benfica at home, but I’m confident we’d have at least one more away goal in our bag going into tonight. We’re still in good shape, but we should be better off and still have Babel to choose from for this evening’s match.

Now: as for Birmingham, every pundit I’ve heard or read this week has been questioning Rafa’s decision to take Torres off. I’ll get to that. My real problem with Rafa came hours before when I went online to hunt down our starting eleven before that match. Agger benched. Mascherano benched. Babel benched. What is happening?? For Liverpool part of any good run of form these last couple of years comes when player rotation is minimal or nonexsistent. These players should have been instrumental in securing all the points against Birmingham.

While I’m still angry at Babel for going all Godfather part I on the Benfica man’s cheek, the kid is still playing some of the best football I’ve ever seen him pull off in a Liverpool kit. (I think Sammy Lee pulled him aside and mentioned that football is actually a team sport and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pass the ball from time to time rather than running at three defenders whenever he get’s possession. Nobody’s ever thought to mention this to Babel.) And Rafa certainly can’t argue he’s resting Babel for Benfica since Babel is suspended from that match. Instead the kid plays the supersub role once again which usually lends itself to the tunnel-visioned, I’m going to do it all by myself side of Ryan Babel that is useless to us. I would have started him. Rest somebody else for today’s match that he can’t play in anyway.

Then there’s Agger. Our defense it at it’s best when we play the same back four as much as possible and allow their chemistry and understanding of each other’s positioning dictate how we break up the other side’s attack. Now I love Soto Krygiacos. He’s been massive. He’s been dependable. He’s made the difference when we’ve needed him. He’s pulled the spirit of Sami Hyypia out of the Anfield ether and made some essential stops when we’ve needed them most. But if Agger’s fit enough to be on the bench, he should be in there with Carra, Insua and Johnson, carrying on the rapport they’ve enjoyed since Agger came back fit. That chemistry and understand is the glue that keeps our defense  tight and impenetrable. The marking and awareness against Birmingham was dismal. With Agger in we would have had a lot more coherence back there and Birmingham wouldn’t have had that ridiculous chance.

Mostly though, why rest Mascherano? Let me rephrase. Why start Lucas? I know Rafa has endless faith in Lucas that comes from somewhere invisible to the rest of us when we watch him on matchday, but if we look back at this miserable season, much of our struggling involved having Lucas as a starting midfielder, and our recent results (which apart from Benfica and United have been positive) have relied on him returning to his (proper) role as a squad player. To thrive, this side needs backbone and spark in the midfield. Lucas provides neither. Mascherano lays down the former. Aquilani is starting to show of the latter. Gerrard has both in vast supply, even when he’s not at his best. We should have started Mascherano against Birmingham. Alongside Gerrard. He was fit enough for the bench, he could have come off later on. With Mascherano in we wouldn’t have had all that space on the right when Birmingham got there strange goal (yes, the dude scored with his crotch). With Mascherano there we would have had someone to track back and cover for Johnson who then could have gotten forward and given us the width to break down a ten-men-behind-the-ball side, which was, I thought, the big reason for paying all that money for Johnson. We certainly don’t get that insurance policy with Lucas.

Yes, I was taken aback by Rafa bringing off Torres for N’Gog ( Torres couldn’t seem to figure it out either, looking somewhat confused when he came off and outright irritated when N’Gog missed three clear chance that Torres would have buried), but I was already perplexed by the Gaffer’s plans to rest key players for Europa when we need the points for fourth and when Birmingham has already given so many headaches to the top sides, Torres coming off just added to my confusion. It didn’t generate it.

Ultimately, these men play better when they are playing a lot. In past seasons we’ve worried about Liverpool being in too many competitions, but some of the best performances come when they’ve got a heavy workload. See: 2005. Not only did resting players against Birmingham do us damage domestically, I think everyone would be far sharper for tonight had something near tonight’s expected starting eleven been run out on Sunday. I know Rafa’s got a lot on his mind with the struggles we’ve had, wondering how he’s going to afford new players this summer, and so on. But it’s time to look at our strengths and play to them. That means putting the best starting eleven we have available out every fixture. If a top player starts from the bench, we’re in trouble. We’ve got no more room to slip up this season. And that scares me.

I’m not upset at the result. Before the match, my friend Jamie and I were talking about our expectations. When we’re honest with ourselves, we expect to be beaten at Old Trafford in a season when Liverpool have had so many problems (and when Wayne Rooney seemingly can’t be contained unless you sign the Great Wall of China as your goalkeeper). A loss was expected. A point would have been wonderful. A win would have made us mad with joy and we likely would have torn down the walls of our favorite pub to burn off all that frenetic energy. (Our only redemption in the fact that one of the pub’s owners, Kevin, would have been there tearing the walls down with us while buying rounds for anyone in a red shirt… okay maybe not the rounds, but he would definitely have been in on the demolition…)

When Torres rose high and smashed that ball past Edwin van der Sar, we began to believe again. But United came back. And, honestly, it could have been a lot worse. Rooney seemed off that day and except for rebounding a blocked penalty kick, didn’t look ready to facilitate our undoing. He needed Mascherano and Park to help. If he’d been in normal form that day, we could have been in far worse trouble.

I’m more upset by our performance than their victory.

Then came the Sunderland match. I had less optimism going into this one. Sunderland just felt like a side to give us headaches with our current problems and I feared a draw. But, boom, suddenly our whole side looked fit and eager and ready to tear through anybody. Where was this outfit the week before? We gushed confidence and diligence. We maintained pressure and improvised inroads. When we lost the ball, we dug our feet in and got it back. When we ran into tight quarters, clever touches and passes opened up new alleys, new angles on goal. Not that we needed direct avenues: before the third minute was up, Torres opened the scoring by running at two defenders, finding a small window between them at the side of the box and firing at an impossible angle into the far post, bouncing it in. In the first half we could have put the game away. It seemed like every time we approached their goal one of our players had a chance. We finished the match 3-0 with a sweet deflected shot from Johnson and another Torres goal to finish things off, but it really could have been 7-0. Gerrard, Kuyt and Maxi were among those with clear chances, and in one of the strangest moments I’ve seen for Torres, we watched the striker blast one of the post only to have it land right back at his feet. He only missed the rebound because he was still reeling from that how did that not go in feeling and didn’t expect the ball to come right back at him. The most important thing is we played well. We were bursting with chemistry and drive. Torres led the charge but this was a consummate team win. Everybody played his best and contributed. If we had this spark against United we would have earned at least a point. I’m sure of it.

So here’s what I want for the rest of the season: good form. Finishing outside the top four will be devastating, but if we make a good run of it I will survive. If we finish seventh but we attack our remaining fixtures the way we attacked Sunderland, I will have my pride. Few sides could have done better than us with as many injuries to key players as we’ve had. Sure, Chelsea and Man City could field almost two winning starting elevens with their depth, but any other top side asked to play without its stars as much as we’ve done would not be sitting where they are now. If  you’d told me in August that we’d have stretches without Gerrard and Torres and Yossi (at one point at the same time), I might have crawled into a cave for the season. Especially since I would have still been in mourning over Xabi’s sale. But we’re here and we’ve got to deal with it. So now just give me that form. Play like a hungry, tireless, beautiful, wily pack of rabid footballers. Give me attack. Give me chemistry. Give me vision. Give me goals. Birmingham, Fulham, West Ham, Burnley, Hull: we should win most of our remaining domestic fixtures. Hell, if we play against Chelsea with the spark and grit of last Sunday, I wouldn’t rule out a win. Benfica will be tough today, but I’m full of confidence again. If everybody keeps their heads and keeps fit, we can go on a tear and end the season with our heads up. That’s all I ask at this point.

Having looked away from the television for a moment, I missed Babel’s “service” and caught that part of it on the replay. For me, it was just Torres Torres Torres. I was slapped in the face with the pure joy of the moment while being perplexed by how can someone be THAT good? Here is a man who has finally switched back on after the injury problems. Against Portsmouth his spark was lit with the simple chance that created the first goal. Then it has been all out devastation for those who face him. It’s been four goals in two matches. His second against Pompey made a foregone conclusion result that much more foregone. But his two against Lille secured advancement against a side who only needed to score one away goal to make us need to score three. Torres saw that we got the three (adding two to Gerrard’s penalty) regardless of Pepe Reina’s clean sheet.

Truth is, until the 89th minute of Thursday’s fixture, any tuned-in Liverpool supporter remained in the grips of utter tension despite the great performance and the two-nil scoreline. In the last minutes, Lille were applying pressure and winning dead-ball chances, trying to get that goal that would see them through. But at the tail-end of regulation, Gerrard took a shot at goal, saw it blocked, and there was Torres… With two defenders and a keeper converging on him, with his body twisted away from goal, he pounced on the captain’s rebounded attempt and slotted it home, sending us through to the Europa Cup’s next round.

I could never honestly say that I forget how good Torres is when he’s in shape and in form. But I’m still knocked over by it when I see it culminate like this. In both the Portsmouth and Lille outings we saw him steam by multiple defenders from the wing, flicking the ball around opponents as if they were mounds of dirt instead of top-flight footballers. Neither of those runs happened to come to goals (although one bounced off the far post), but the movement was still mesmerizing like watching an uncorked hurricane spin into the penalty box.

Honestly, two weeks ago, my friends Jamie and Tim were talking about not watching tomorrow’s Manchester United at our pub. And I was ready to join them at Tim’s to watch on his new television, drinking beer hours before the State of Massachusetts will allow us to in a bar, and in a safe place where we can share our misery behind close doors. This would have been unheard of last season (not trekking down to our pub) but this talk was during the spell when Liverpool were losing to Wigan and Lille (first leg), when the Blackburn victory looked like a one off, and we felt certain that in-form United would steamroll us at Old Trafford. But with Torres playing like this… with Liverpool playing like this… fuck it: I’ll be at my pub. We all will. I certainly won’t put money on a win, but I also wouldn’t bet against Torres breaking through the lines and slapping the ball past Edwin van der Sar and giving us a clear advantage. If I faltered while Liverpool faltered in France, I am now full of the belief again. And that is enough. Even if we lose.

Ultimately, this is what being a football fan hinges on. No matter who you support, you’ve seen your side fall and or flail at one time or another. But believing they can bounce back is was makes you tune in to the next match, the next season, the next campaign. Whatever. So tomorrow, I’m going in with the belief that we can make it four in a row against United. Everybody will play outside themselves like they always do against the toughest opposition. Torres will give the centre backs more headaches than a chainsmoker on an overseas flight. Gerrard will be at his absolute hungriest. Our defenders will develop psychic powers and know where Rooney is going before he goes. (Okay, that last one might be the least likely scenario, but I still have to believe in it.) In the end it could well come down to how early or late in the match Vidic gets his ritual red card (c’mon, Nemanja, a streak is a streak: keep it going). And I will bet you at ten to one odds that I end up with a closing shift at the restaurant tonight and will be taking this all in on about five hours of sleep.

But the point is:

His armband said he was a red, Torres Torres!

You’ll Never Walk Alone, it said, Torres Torres!

We bought the lad from sunny Spain…

He gets the ball he scores again…

Fernando Torres, Liverpool’s Number 9!

And… (Wait for it)…

Bounce!

Aquilani scores for Liverpool!

Who were we watching? Standing in the pub, we made the irresistible jokes about how Barcelona had flown to Anfield and donned our side’s red jerseys. The Liverpool side that couldn’t carve out a goal against Wigan or Lille was nowhere to be seen. This was a flowing, determined outfit. Just about everybody was playing healthy for once. Aquilani was starting to look like he might just be worth his transfer fee. Torres was his cunning old self. Maxi was deftly turning players and making space. Glen Johnson was getting forward and influencing attacks. Even Babel remembered to pass the ball to his teammate’s so consistently, I thought aloud, He really is Dutch!

“Well, where’s Lucas?” demanded Kevin, one of the owners of the pub.

“On the bench,” replied someone, not realizing he’d fallen into Kevin’s trap.

“Exactly! That explains it!”

But this was definitely a big factor. Against Wigan and Lille we couldn’t win our midfield battles with the diminutive Lucas in the mix. But with Alberto Aquilani commanding the space and pushing forward, we kept Portsmouth on the back foot. Gerrard wasn’t playing his best, and he missed a couple of chances we are used to seeing him seal, but with Aquilani there he was able to get forward and draw defenders away from Fernando Torres.

Torres was wide open when Maxi knocked the ball to him and  he fired it into a nearly empty net. An easy goal for such a talent, but it clearly got his fires stoked and that was as satisfying as a goal that defies the laws of physics.

When Babel had the ball in traffic, I thought it would come to nothing. But the young Dutchman kept his head and took the shot through the congestion. If Babel plays like this more often, he’ll live up to the potential we’ve seen in glimpses but never for long stretches of time.

Then there was Aquilani’s goal. I didn’t believe it in the moment. First, it didn’t look like the ball was going to make it to him. It was moving too slowly. The Portsmouth defender was surely going to get there first. But Alberto charged in from the side and fired. Then I didn’t think it had gone in. It was too good to be real. It had to be rattling against the back of the net and not bouncing around inside the goal. But the pub was shaking. Friends were screaming. Aquilani had just scored his first goal to Liverpool and put us three nil up with some sixty minutes of game still to play.

In moments like this I always feel like Liverpool will score seven or eight. We never do. We always slow it down. Or they always tighten up. Whichever. But with Gerrard being off target a couple of times and Aquilani having one other clear chance, we really could have scored a few more times on Monday.

My favorite near chance came from Torres. Someone passed him the ball and he was out wide. “Why’s he playing out there?” cried my friend Niall. Followed by a parenthetical: “Of course now that I’ve said that he’ll probably score.” That’s when Torres cuts in, streaks into the box and fires the ball… off the far post. So close. Niall nearly bit off his own wrist. “Oh My God! Did you see that! I almost predicted it!”

Torres would get another before the end. Pompey would get a consolation goal, and we were all sad to see the clean sheet gone. But the four goals brought us that joy that Liverpool supporters have been missing. This season has had so many stumbles, it was refreshing to see our side dominate, even if it was against a team that’s lost 11 of their 15 away matches and only has ten points to their name.

Today, Lille will be a much tougher opponent. But with those goals and this form going into it, I feel a lot better about today’s outing then I did a week ago. Aquilani may be out with another virus. (Doesn’t the kid take his vitamins?)

I say, put Gerrard in the midfield as we did against Blackburn. Let him get the plays going and while helping keep the pressure high. Then some combination of Torres, Dirk, Maxi and Benayoun or Babel can set themselves to cracking Lille’s safe. Please tell me the form from Monday wasn’t a freak occurrence. We need to replicate it today.

Torres: Please, get some goals in before United match...

 I’m the fan who demands my one year in denial. I cling to the hopes of last season, refusing to believe something can’t be salvaged from this one (as the definition of salvage changes from Can we still finish top four? to Can we still finish top six? Top seven?) With my team so plagued by injury and other abrupt halts to any momentum, I’ve looked to those few inspiring performances to show me that a run of great form is on its way. October’s lively win over United made me sure we were about to put the early season problems behind us and go on a streak. Nope. We didn’t win again for another month. (And that was against Debrecen, a day we got kicked out of the Champions League anyway because Fiorentina beat Lyon).

Then in January, despite the continual problems with fitness and form, we managed a nice little unbeaten streak. No stand-out matches, but it looked like Liverpool were coming together. We lost to Arsenal in February, ending that streak, but we put up a good fight and were building momentum toward the City match which had become incredibly important. A time to take all the points from a strong rival and make make a serious bid on top-four placement. But our players forgot how to pass the ball and couldn’t gain an advantage despite a brilliant defensive outing. Crushed.

And then there was Wigan.

I stand by the optimism I felt after the Blackburn match (see my last post). Our team was finally showing some spark formwise. Just to see Maxi linking up with Gerrard and creating chances. It felt like things could really come together. It looked like our players were finally all on the same page. But I should have known better. I should have known from that victory over United that this was too good to last more than ninety minutes.

In our defense, the pitch at Wigan should be condemned. I think the grass was made of steel bristles. The ball had no movement and led to some horrible miscues including Dirk’s awful pass in the defensive third that gave them the ball back and led to the goal (with awful man-marking thrown in for added painful viewing). My friend Tim texted me from New Hampshire: “It looks like they’re playing in sand.”

That being said: our players needed to adjust to the conditions and get something out of the match. Okay, the ball is moving like it’s been bronzed and filled with stones… it’s awful. But you’re professional footballers! Kick it harder and make something work! You’ve played on shit pitches before, right? In the FA Cup? In the Carling? C’mon! We looked like first-day amateurs while Wigan looked like champions, sleekly moving the ball around their pitch (which they are used to) as we stumbled and missed again and again.

Now, I expect us to act like nothing happened and go out and play well against Lille today. That seems to be the plot device in the story of Liverpool’s season. We’ll play well against Lille. Maybe both legs. In the middle of that we’ll beat Portsmouth. Win or lose, we’ll play well against United because we rise to a higher level against tougher opposition. Then we’ll crash upon the wall against Sunderland. We’ll drop two points at least no matter how well we’ve played going up to that. It’s not a foregone conclusion but it sure wouldn’t surprise me.

But go ahead, Liverpool. Show me I’m wrong. Rafa says Wigan was a fluke. I pray he’s right. We’ve put our title hopes on hold until next year. We are on the cusp of doing the same with our top four hopes. But no matter where we end, I just want to see some good form! I just want to remember why I love watching this team. That side that scored all those late goals to secure last-gasp points. That side who pushed a promising Spanish talent into a record breaking Premiership scorer. That side who did the double on United, Chelsea and Real Madrid last season. I want to remember what it’s like to lose my voice screaming at a television with unbridled glee at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. There’s still time for some of that. Right? It is not so much to ask.

Gerrard: Triangle Maker

Last night I hunted down a clip on my 501 goals DVD. It’s Liverpool’s Craig Johnston talking sometime in the 80s about Liverpool’s approach:

“It’s the simplicity of the game that Liverpool play that’s so amazing… You get the ball at your feet… And you see players like Phil Neal and Sammy Lee—and see them five yards away from you—and they’re calling for the ball, and I think: ‘Well that’s too easy!’ I mean, who wants to see that sort of thing? But I find myself giving it to them simple. And they’ve already seen something happening further on and I sort of latch onto what they’ve seen onto. And, you know, that’s the way they work: in little triangles. But it’s the simplicity of it that’s so baffling.”

A great example of an athlete fumbling over words, trying to figure out what he’s trying to say as he says it… and stumbling onto the thing that makes something so great.  Here it’s the little triangles.Phil Neal finding Johnston finding Sammy Lee finding Johston as play weaves up the pitch, as space is created and shifted and chances open up, seeming so simple. How I’ve longed for them in the current Liverpool side. We saw this during the best parts of last season. Exchanges between midfielders and wingers and full backs ending up at the feet of strikers who put it away. But this season such flow has been largely absent. But something switched on in Liverpool against Blackburn. It was dazzling if you were watching closely.

The build up to the first goal was a series of triangles, remiscnent of what Johnston was talking about. Lucas found Dirk found Stevie found Yossi. All simple passing that ended with Yossi holding up the ball in the area and passing to Stevie who pushed it into space for himself and scored. The key here is that the players created space for each other by moving the ball quickly and cleanly. Nobody spent too much time dribbling and allowing themselves to be shut down. They maneuevered so well and efficiently that by the time the ball came to the next player that man had plenty of space to work with and make his move.

Even when we weren’t scoring, the ball was constantly being shifted to a man in space and a dangerous attack looked imminent. (It was so exciting when this man was Maxi who played the best I’ve seen him since he came to England and was constantly wide open on the wing) Ultimately, Blackburn didn’t know what to do with us. They were never going to score from open play. In the end they just hacked away their frustrations (at Lucas’s face and Maxi’s chest, for example). They were fortunate to finish with all their players still on the pitch. I’m confinced the ref accidently packed two yellow cards in his pocket that morning and left the red back at the house. Awkward.

And though it was only a 1-2 victory, it felt like so much more, just because Liverpool were playing well as a team. The chemistry was there. The triangles were there. So today against Wigan, I’m hoping for signs that the Blackburn victory wasn’t just a good day out. That this kind of chemistry and movement has been switched on and Liverpool will go on a run of good form (and hopefully good results). I want to see the little triangles. I like Steven Gerrard in the middle, orchastrating this kind of thing. He’s got the vision to find the next man in the best space. But if we’re playing well enough, Rafa can put him anywhere and it will work. As long as the players create space for each other and keep the ball moving, the simplicity can be devastating.

Well, Torres is back. That’s about the biggest consolation I can take from the last two outings. We may have gotten the right result against Unirea, but if you didn’t watch that match, trust me, the outcome doesn’t reflect the awful, numbing football we sat through for most of ninety minutes. Where was the team who beat Everton with only ten men? Where was the spark that undid Spurs? We were saved by N’Gog switching on at just the right moment (he was useless up until then) and Unirea’s players forgetting how to strike a ball any time they got a look at goal.

Then there was the City match. With Liverpool’s troubles this season and City’s rise, an away draw might not seem the worst thing ever. But Liverpool’s passing was easily the worst thing ever. These are professional footballers. They’ve been playing this game their entire lives. How do they suddenly forget to connect with a teammate on some of the simplest missed passes I’ve ever seen? Your teammate is wearing a bright red shirt, and you can’t find him?? I honestly think we would have been one or two up on City without Torres if we hadn’t squandered our most promising attacks with repeated cheap losses of possession. It was embarrassing.

Thankfully our defense has gotten it together. This has buoyed us in our time of need. City couldn’t take advantage of our woes because Pepe and the back line stayed sharp and awake and absorbed every attack. And against Unirea tonight, the clean sheet we carry into the match could prove as important as the goal. Now we only need to score one in their house and they’ll need to score at least three. Thank you, Away Goal Rule. Our reinvigorated defense has kept us together while we wait for the scoring to flow once again.

So while I still don’t subscribe to the two-man team theory, it is of endless comfort to see Torres back on the scene. We simply don’t have another frontman who can instill boundless confidence in our team and in our supporters and boundless fear in our opponents. Even if he’s not entirely back, this is the man who scored against Manchester United while injured. This is the man who’s put away 12 goals already this season despite his battles with injury and absence. We can play him sparingly tonight. He can play increasing minutes against Blackburn, Wigan and Pompey and then, hopefully, he’ll be back to his old self just in time for Manchester United away on March 21st. Hopefully, Vidic can get another red card trying to pull Torres down by his headband after he’s blown past everybody. Tradition, right? Oh, yeah… and goals. One or two of them at Old Trafford, please, Niño.

As for the rest of the side: this isn’t a tw0-man team. So I pray they can use the second leg against Unirea to remember how to pass, how to create chances and how to score. This is a pivotal time. Starting tonight, we need to find some convincing form and put away some convincing wins to advance in the Europa and to pull past City and Spurs and get some distance between us and Villa. Yossi is back. Torres is back. Steven almost looks his old self again (that early charge against Unirea, that attempt from distance against City). I’m ready to watch Liverpool switch on and fight their way back into the top four. This season isn’t over yet, even if I’ve wanted to hide in a ditch somewhere for most of it.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but: Why take Lucas off??

We could see the goal coming. Rosicky tore down the right side while our defense struggled to get back into position. His cross was going nowhere but to Diaby’s head which had no one marking it. Diaby knocked the ball past Pepe and the Gunners were up. Liverpool had done so well to absorb Arsenal attacks for 70-plus minutes, but we rarely looked to have any finishing with Dirk playing wide and Gerrard playing deep and Maxi still learning the hard lesson of “You don’t have time on the ball here like you did in Spain”. So with twenty minutes to go, 1-0 down felt a bit insurmountable. If Torres was fit he would have gotten on one of the many tasty balls directed toward N’Gog (who either got out-muscled by his defender or lacked the deftness to turn him), or he would have eaten up Gerrard’s perfect pass to Degen (who, despite a universe of space and opportunity, gifted Arsenal a goal kick). A little Torres would have turned the match around. I even would have taken Robbie Keane back for just one day. Last season he secured a point with his brilliant goal against his once and future North London rivals. We could have used one more of those. But we sold him, never really replaced him and here we are: Torres is injured and the unripened N’Gog is in charge of leading the attack against one of our biggest rivals.

In the pub where I watched, we screamed for Riera to come on to help find the equalizer. Something. We even took spiritual amnesty in the sight of Babel warming up (I was certain he’d be sold in the last window). More attack with somebody who’s scored for Liverpool. But I was puzzled by Lucas coming off. It should have been N’Gog or Maxi. Normally I’d be relieved to see Lucas subbed off, but the young Brazilian midfielder had a solid day out. He played at a higher level as he is prone to do against tougher opposition. Now we would inevitably pull Gerrard further back when he should move forward and pose more of a threat on goal. Babel did have a great shot on target (reminiscent of his Champions League blast against Chelsea a couple of seasons ago) but Almunia managed to get a hand to it. We just couldn’t create enough chances until the end when an 11th hour whistle for a free kick made our pub burst into The Steve Gerrard Gerrard (tune of Que Sera Sera) Song. And soon the ball was curling around the edge of the wall. Only Fabregas’ outstretched arm could stop it. But Howard Webb chose to end the game rather than award the obvious penalty.

An Arsenal supporting friend who watches in our pub came over to discuss the match and confessed our side deserved a point from the outing. I agree. Yet I am far less upset by this than by the loss to Arsenal at Anfield in December. This was losing to the Gunners on their turf where we haven’t beaten them in a decade. I can accept that especially in a season so rife with problems. But at Anfield we should have gotten the penalty call when Gallas took down Gerrard in the first half. At Anfield we shouldn’t have let the own goal put out our fire. At Anfield we needed a big win against a big side to help turn the season around. At Emirates, we nearly held off a powerful opponent after our seven match unbeaten streak. We can deal with this. We can get back to results like those against Spurs, Bolton and Everton. (Oh, was there a Wolves match in there too? I must have mentally blocked it. I’ll bring it up with my therapist.) Liverpool are still in good shape considering how the season started.

Thursday we face Unirea at Anfield. Between limited Stateside broadcasting and my day job I’m not sure I’ll get to see this one. I may cruise down to the pub and hope they’ve got the DirectTV going. Anyway, here’s a chance to take control of a campaign. It’s not a campaign we had our sights on in August, but it’s what we have now.

And I think I’m looking forward to it.

It’s hard to know how to call this match. On one hand Liverpool are coming off back-to-back victories including a ten-man derby win. On the other Arsenal definitely have something to prove after Manchester United and Chelsea have patently exposed the holes in their armor. They’ll see us as a big team they can beat (because they’ve already done it this season). We’ll see them as a chance to prove we’re back on track after our struggles with form and results. For us it’s a chance to close the gap on a top four rival. For them these are three points they can’t afford to drop as they strive to keep in sight of United and Chelsea.

Really, with the way things have gone this season and with our eternal lack of depth brought on by constant medical problems (and now Aquilani’s not even in the squad because of illness), I shouldn’t get my hopes up for this one. But I honestly think we can beat Arsenal tomorrow. And I don’t think I’m just telling myself this to calm the nerves going into the match.

Liverpool’s biggest problem apart from the injuries has been our mentality. When the side is fired up we can still produce the wins without Torres and Benayoun. When we’re in a slump, it shows. Painfully. When we faced Arsenal at Anfield in December we were still accepting our dismissal from the Champions League. We’d recently drawn with Lyon, Birmingham, Manchester City and Blackburn. In the previous match we lost to Fiorentina. That match didn’t matter since we were already out of that race, but still. The first half against Arsenal showed promise, but we let a blatantly missed penalty call and a second-half own goal get in our heads and we collapsed to the Gunners on our home turf.

This time can be different. Aside from the draw with Wolves, we’ve been putting some good wins away. We beat Tottenham without three of our best finishers (Torres, Gerrard, Benayoun). And in our last two fixtures, we beat Bolton and Everton with the inimitable Dirk Kuyt leading both charges.

Now, I’m not excited that our already shallow squad loses both the ailing Aquilani and the suspended Kyrgiacos for this outing. But Soto has cover from Agger and Skrtel and I’m not sure I would have started Aquilani anyway. I want to see the man in full form as much as anybody, but my new take on the recovering Italian is this: if I spend my savings on a flashy second-hand sports car and the engine starts wheezing, I’m not going to tear around town in it until I get the thing fixed. Our most expensive summer signing came to us broken. Fine. We can’t push him into full 90 first-team football until we’re sure he’s back to a hundred percent.

And as much as I’d expect Dirk Kuyt to once again make the difference in an important match, this is the game for Steven Gerrard to switch on to his full devastating self and carry us to victory. It’s a role he knows well. Don’t worry, Stevie, Torres will be back sooner than later and the two of you can fine your firing rhythm anew. But for now, for old time’s sake, how about one of those long-range heat-sinking missiles from open play? Drop some opposing jaws. Shut up the home crowd. Get your teammates alight.

Arsenal have plenty of attack but their defense has been showing its cracks. If they get the chance to keep us on the back foot, they’ll keep us there and we won’t have enough shots at goal. But if we can contain their scariest players (Fabregas, Arshavin) and absorb the attacks, we can catch them on a break and put a couple goals past Señor Almunia. Maybe this comes from the necessary bravado a fan needs going into such a fixtures, but I believe it anyway.

Yes, I should be all wound up about the upcoming Arsenal match. Yes, that should be all I think about. But I’m still buzzing from Saturday’s derby. I went from being a shifty mess during the ninety minutes to climbing the walls and swinging from the chandeliers with pure elation once that final whistle blew.

Going into the match I didn’t imagine we’d go down to ten men in the first half. This fixture is famous for its bookings and sendings off, but it seemed like the Merseyside derby had been losing some of the usual brutality lately. Last season’s only ejection came against us when Lucas saw red in the FA Cup replay, but I attributed that more to Lucas’s inexperience rather than the traditional derby venom. This season’s previous Merseyside derby had only one booking: a yellow against Everton’s Heitinga.

But when things got underway at Anfield Saturday, I could see this would be the classic kind of battle that lets the blood and loosens the teeth. Tackles were full force and badly timed.  You could see early on, all 22 men were never staying on the pitch for the full 90. Dirk Kuyt took a boot in the face after a hard tackle felled him. Mascherano and Fellaini might have both been sent off by less patient officials. But there came a point when enough was enough and the Ref had to respond. So Soto Kyrgiacos took the long walk after taking Fellaini down (just deserts?) with both feet and studs up.

With Liverpool’s struggles this season, I wouldn’t expect us to grind out a win with only ten men (especially with Torres still out), but, strangely, Kyrgiacos may have done us a favor by earning the booking. His dismissal lit a fire beneath the remaining players. When he left we found an intense focus: keeping serious possession, defending with conviction and battering away at the Everton wall. The Blues rarely looked like they had a man advantage.

And when Dirk Kuyt’s blonde mop popped up between defender and keeper to turn the ball into the net, it felt like the pitch had been flipped upside down. Everything was possible.

Of course it was Dirk. It just had to be him who made the difference. Battered yet relentless. He just won’t stop.

Throughout the match, I died a little inside every time Everton were given a set piece since we’ve been so awful at defending them, but Reina may have been runner-up for man of the match. Great, one-handed saves whenever we needed them.

Winning after going a man down is right up there with a good come-from-behind victory. The red card nearly has the emotional devastation of a goal against. It is a setback with the added suspense of “will they be able to capitalize on our ejection?” The potential energy of imagined goals against sits heavy on the mind. Add that to the unbearable tension that’s woven into a one-nil lead and you can imagine how I writhed and sputtered, watching that grueling derby on only four hours of sleep.

So when Liverpool kept a clean sheet and forced in the winner, this match became one of my favorite all-time derbies. A key win when we needed it. The painful worry that filled me up throughout such a tight, suspenseful contest transformed into pure satisfaction in the end. Torture to watch in the moment, but once it was over, it became the winning lottery ticket.

And so until Wednesday I remain the happy millionaire. In fact: I may not start fretting over Arsenal until tomorrow when I sit down to write my pre-match thoughts. This feeling is too good to sacrifice to the gods of worry just yet.

Aquilani: Ready to start in a derby?

7:45am. That’s the time to tune in here in Boston if you want to see Liverpool FC take on Everton FC. And though I could feasibly be at work tonight until 3:30am (that’s if I get the closing section: worst case scenario—I could be out as early as 11pm, but I’m not getting my hopes up until my manager says I am free), I will be at the pub, coffee in hand ready to take in another Merseyside derby.

As I’ve written before: it was a derby match that made me make the Phoenix Landing my home for Liverpool fixtures. Since I get the ESPNs and FSC at home, I had only planned to go to the pub for the Setanta matches. Why bother going out and spending the extra money on food and drink? But standing amongst (then) strangers in red shirts, we writhed together when Sami Hyypia’s strange own goal put us behind. Then we went mad when a foul, a whistle, a Hibbert red card and a Dirk Kuyt penalty kick all put us on terms. When the whole thing all but repeated itself in stoppage time: a hand-ball, a whistle, a Neville red card and a Dirk Kuyt penalty. And these strangers were hugging me and picking me up and we went madder. I knew I’d be at this pub every chance my schedule allowed.

The Landing has even bigger turnouts now than when I first started going. New faces in the latest red shirts keep adding to the throng in our make-shift Kop. I was surprised to see last week’s fixture against Bolton drew in a serious crowd. Not the standing room only we’ll see next time we play Manchester United, but quite a good turnout for Bolton. “Hey, it’s almost a derby,” I said when a friend voiced surprise at the turnout that day.

Tomorrow is hard to gauge. The match is on ESPN2. When an early kick-off lands on a channel most people have, the pub is less likely to hit capacity, but I’m hoping others feel the same derby draw as me. It’s one of those days when I want to be packed in. I know it’s not the same as being at Anfield, but that’s why we love our pub so: it’s the best substitute we have and for the most riveting matches (Everton, Arsenal, United, Chelsea), it’s best when the place is full. And anyway they finally started serving good coffee (their previous brand was functional at best), so there’s really no excuse.

As for the match, it’s going to be another real grind. Combine the struggles Liverpool have had with the fact that the Merseyside derby is never pretty, and you realize it has to be a frustrating outing no matter what. (If Liverpool want to prove me wrong with three sure goals in the first half, I’ll gladly take the relief to my stomach and my nerves over being right as a writer.)

I’m hoping to see a good day from Aquilani (although I have a fear that Rafa will bench him, knowing these matches are rough and Aquaman seems to still be a lingering injury concern). The Italian looked good to me last week. Friends cited some bad passes he made, but I argued that those moments stood out more because we are looking at him with intense scrutiny. If Gerrard missed the same amount of passes but made the same connections that day and provided a similar key assist, we would have had nothing to say on the matter. But with Aquilani, we’re still waiting to see what all that money has bought. We’re looking at everything he does with an intense eye, waiting to see if he’s the next Xabi or just another Lucas. Praying for the former. Wondering if we kept the receipt for the latter.

Fabio Aurelio is supposedly back. I find this comforting. He’s looked one of the best choices on the left wing with Yossi out and as Riera struggles to find his old twists and turns. Also his ability to threaten from a free-kick could make a big difference.

Dirk Kuyt will keep up his intensity. I feel stupid saying something so obvious (the sun will run out of energy before Dirk Kuyt ever does), but his drive will be essential tomorrow. This is the perfect match to push him to play at his best. He and Gerrard remain our biggest goal threats, but as this is the derby, one can expect a strange goal from anybody except maybe Reina (but I wouldn’t even rule that out).

Mascherano’s strike that deflected off Yobo last time out (credited as an own goal) is just the kind of event I’d expect to make the difference in this fixture. Hell, I’d love to see Jamie Carragher score from distance against the side he supported as a boy. Unlikely, yes. But it still wouldn’t surprise me at all. The goals tend to come in unexpected fashions on derby day. A win over our in-town rivals requires a lot of sweat, a ton of grit, and the planets aligning just at the right moment as the player takes a shot on goal. I’ll be tearing my hair out and sprinkling the floor with my fingernails for ninety-plus minutes. But I won’t miss it for anything.

Liverpool v. Bolton. Alright. As I’m starting this it’s nearly 2am here on the east side of America so I’m going to reel off a few hundred words before bed. Sorry for the brevity compared to my usual output, but kickoff is eight hours away and this writer needs some sleep. But I do want to get my pre-match thoughts in.

Mostly I want to talk about Dirk Kuyt. I’ve written about him before. I’ve put forth my praise and my belief in him. But last time out I think I was a little hard on the man if only through my undertones. I basically said with Yossi, Steven and Fernando out, I didn’t know where the goals would come from. I said Dirk looked tired. I said he needed more service to get something going. I showed skepticism. I was out of line.

And while I’m sure Liverpool’s loyal and dogged Dutchman didn’t read my last entry, he responded to my disbelieving gripes anyway with two sure goals against Tottenham. The first was unadulterated magic. Dirk—who’s first touch can so often seem clumsy and makes any Liverpool supporter skip a breath, waiting to see if the ball will stay ours—gracefully took Pepe Reina’s long pass down with his chest and sent it right to Aquilani. Aquilani deftly pushed toward the area and gave it back to Dirk who’s long in-traffic strike looked as improbable as it was earth-shattering. We were one-nil up on Spurs, one of the toughest teams in the league these days.

The second goal was a well-taken stoppage time penalty. Perhaps more notable then your average pen since Dirk had to take it twice (after the ref blew on the first attempt for encroachment) and he converted both times.

But then there was Wolves. After Liverpool beat Spurs 2-0, one should expect them to easily shrug off Wolverhampton. Especially with Steven Gerrard coming back from injury. But as always, the so-called minnow sides of the Premiership have a way of giving the Reds endless headaches. My friend Carl says Liverpool really beat themselves in matches like these and I must agree. Nobody attacking the goal. Constantly ceding possession. This was a dismal outing.

Bringing it back to Dirk, I think he took on less responsibility with Gerrard coming back. Like: Stevie’s back, he’ll win it. I’ll take more of a support role again. I don’t know. Dirk just wasn’t playing as an out and out forward but with Torres still gone, we really need him to push up and try to devour a chance. But none of our players looked like they had anything to play for that outing. I can’t blame Dirk for us drawing to Wolves. But I can hold him largely responsible for us beating Spurs.

So here comes Bolton.

Bolton are one of those sides that could come out and just implode, or they could fire themselves up and really devastate. You just can’t tell with Bolton these days. Any set piece they earn is going to have me just convulsing with worry. We suck at defending them. Matthew Taylor can definitely put one away from distance.

But at the same time: I’ve only seen Bolton beat us once since I’ve been following English Football. 2-0 in the fall of 2006. Every match since that we’ve won. Even in seasons when we’ve had problems against sides we should have owned (Stoke, Hull, Barnsley!), we always seemed to pull together against Bolton. Maybe it’s that Derby-like atmosphere that comes from trotting up the road to the Reebok, I don’t know. But we can beat Bolton. We’ve got to.

Dirk Kuyt, I’m sorry I doubted you. You are the man to get in there and make a real difference. You wear Liverpool on your sleeve. You probably sleep and shower in your home kit. You are everywhere on that pitch every week and I just know you are going to pop up in front of goal and make me wish I could erase all the doubt from my previous article. Go get ’em, Dirk.

Forgive me my past doubts: in Dirk I trust.

Let me explain.

Liverpool without Torres and Gerrard need a lift to come from somewhere else. Without some pivotal moment, the rest of our side, who can play out of their skin in the right circumstances (much of last season) will definitely let bad results and bad luck weigh heavily on their collective consciousness. Usually one can expect Dirk Kuyt or Yossi Benayoun to make the difference in the clutch when Torres and Gerrard are absent but Yossi’s out injured and Dirk hasn’t had enough good service to get him one of those game-saving goals to turn the side’s miserable fortunes into a brighter direction. Some glimmer of hope from a stoppage time goal or a blistering free-kick could be enough to light a fire under our depleted side. But recently things have gone completely the other way. Those game-changing moments have been against us and have sucked the petrol from our tanks again and again.

Against Reading, despite the miserable form, Liverpool looked about to steal the win. Our players showed more grit in the second half trying to protect the single (own-) goal lead. And though we couldn’t find the second goal that would have put the match to bed, the win should have been ours after regulation. But when Yossi was adjudged to have fouled Shane Long in the box in stoppage time, Phil Dowd awarded a penalty. And we didn’t even have Pepe in goal. It was the understudy, Cavalieri, and Reading converted. But the real outrage is that earlier, Dowd took a near-identical situation at the other end (light contact and a fall) and not only denied the foul, he booked Philip Degen for diving. And I’m not arguing we deserved a penalty off Degen’s fall either. But the guy was kicked in the shin and he gets booked for simulation. Hasn’t Phil Dowd ever heard of a reflex hammer? I would have been content to see both plays waved on. Neither was what I would call a clear penalty. Referees must err on the side of not turning the match on its head if there is any doubt. Instead we get some serious game-changing inconsistency over two similar incidences in the box and Reading get a breath of fresh air in extra time. They deserved to progress on form, yes. But again: this is a spiritual plea. The penalty call crushed Liverpool, both in terms getting knocked out of the FA Cup and the deflated mentality going into the next match, which brings us to…

Stoke City. God, it was miserable. We lobbed the ball up the pitch forgetting that Nando, Stevie and Yossi weren’t there to collect and do anything with it. The early portion of the game saw Stoke take countless throw-ins from their own half due to our blundering. We might as well have just passed it off to Stoke in our half and saved them the trip up the pitch each time. Degen, who I’d thought looked good at times against Reading, was a horror show against Stoke, passing into traffic more than once while an open teammate was elsewhere in a world of space waving his hands for the ball. N’Gog, while still rated by me as a young player loaded with potential, has not learned enough finesse as a dribbler or a passer to pose consistent threats unless he’s on the end of a good service, which nobody seems up for providing lately. And Dirk looked so drained of energy until the end when he nearly regained the lead with a last-minute header that careened off the post, but at least he reminded us he was still in the match. Too bad it wasn’t enough.

The Lucas moment in the first half could have been just the lift we desperately needed. Referee Lee Mason decided Lucas was going down before the tackle and again we get booked for diving even though I had a better chance at getting the ball off Lucas from my couch in Boston than Danny Higgenbothom did with his late slide. We went into the half nil-nil and I found myself hoping Mascherano would start taking his long blasts in the general direction of goal (reminiscent of Riise’s last season at Anfield—I swear the goals must be forty feet high in Norway), I mean, why the hell not since nobody in a Liverpool jersey could keep hold of the ball in the attacking third anyway?

But then came a moment—not spiritually lifting like a bit of Torres goal-mouth trickery or a long-range Stevie G heat-seeking missile, but something...

Who would have thought, the man most likely to push Liverpool into a good result was Sotirios Kyrgiacos? I know so little about our Greek squad defender I had to pop over to the LFC site just now to make sure I was spelling his name correctly. Kyrgiacos did his best Sami Hyypia impersonation on Saturday. He was everywhere. Marking younger, faster players. Stripping defenders. And he scored our only goal, tapping it in after a little game of pinball in the box. Again, it looked like it would be enough. But, again, we let it all slide away with yet another miserable attempt to defend a set play. Stoke leveled after a late corner allowed Shawcross to flick on to an unmarked Huth who put it away.

There was one more chance for that spiritually elevating moment I’m talking about. It was the only moment where we looked like a top football team, but it came up fruitless in the end: Aquilani’s stellar pass to Aurelio, Aurelio’s searing cross to Kuyt… and Kuyt’s head smacking the ball into the post. It was devastating. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. In my last article I asked for “stupefying” moments out of largely selfish reasons. I wanted them as a spectator. Now I’m asking for the big moments, the elevating moments not just for me, or for my fellow supporters, but for our players. They desperately need to dazzle themselves again and remember what it’s like to play for a winning football team.

So today we play a tough side at home. Spurs have firepower and are in solid form, sitting in that fourth spot on the table we so deeply covet. Our three best players are out with injury along with Glen Johnson and we’re waiting to hear about Danny Agger. I hope to God we play Maxi Rodriguez. None of that extended caution we’ve shown a recuperated Aquilani. I don’t want to ease Maxi into the Premier League. These are desperate times and Maxi is a goalscorer. Play him against Spurs. He can figure it out and he can score or at least create the kind of chance that Dirk or David can actually gobble up. And if he does score the winner that would be a serious lift. The new guy comes in and seals the result. That will give our players the feeling that they can turn this streak around. That we’re using the transfer window to tackle some of our problems. That a top four finish is in reach. That this season isn’t over yet. C’mon, Maxi!

(I swear if Degen starts on the wing again I am going to cry.)

“Most football writing is about that experience, one way or another; in the overall run of writing about football, most of it is about the epiphenomenon of being a fan rather than the phenomenon of the game itself. It’s strange but true. Golf writing is about playing golf; cricket writing is about cricket, and baseball writing about baseball; but most football writing is about being a fan.”

As a writer, I’ve been thinking about how this is connected to the way I experience football as a fan. I’m thinking about the times I’m huddled around a television with fervent, anxious supporters. The experience is one of unparalleled tension. I am more in tune to my own emotions and desires. The technical points of the match are obscured by feeling. I wait and wait for that one moment. The goal. Everything else is suspense and worry. Each match we supporters are desperate beings, praying to see the goal shake the back of the net. And not just during a nil-nil nail-biter. Even with a one or two goal lead in a match where my side has dominated, I can’t trust that some chain of strange events is going to undo everything. An incorrect penalty call. An own-goal. The other side suddenly remembering how to construct a counter-attack. Only when my side gets a nice four or five goal cushion can I relax and watch association football in the same way I watch, for example, most baseball and American football matches. I can then chat with friends. Discuss the match. Take my eyes away from the television at times. Use the bathroom.

Our memories of the football fan experience come from goals. A simple, obvious statement, but one that lies at the core of our fandom. We wait for goals. We pine for goals. My insides coil up like a giant spring as a match goes on without them. Then when they come we throw ourselves into a jubilant frenzy. I can’t count how many times I’ve thrown my arms around a stranger in the pub who briefly becomes my best friend in the world just because he happens to be standing next to me in Liverpool colors when Fernando Torres works the ball home or when Steven Gerrard blasts it in from thirty yards. Even if my head ends up in his armpit and he spills his beer all over my back, that man is, in that moment, my brother and if, as we are still soaring from the goal, he asks me to be the best man in his wedding the following weekend, I will clear my schedule as soon as possible.

And it’s not just goals. It’s the goals that came at the perfect moment and flipped my world on its head. The first goals I think of when I think back on a season or a series of matches usually aren’t even the dazzling, acrobatic feats. You’d think they would be. It should be a crazy bicycle kick or a first time volley off a thirty-yard pass. After all, we pride ourselves in our game being The Beautiful Game. We scoff at the heathens who cannot appreciate our favorite football which is much an art as it is a sport. (To twist and paraphrase a Monty Python bit about vegetarianism: “We’re football fans. We’re not only proud of this fact: we are smug about it.”) But in the end an ugly or mundane strike that seals an important result will live on in my memory much longer than a display of devilish skill that seems to defy the laws of physics. What goal from recent memory would most Liverpool supporters offer up as their most cherished? Xabi Alonso’s goal from 2005 in Instanbul is surely the biggest contender. And what was that? A blocked penalty shot and a roofed rebound. It would never come close to making the video reel of the most spectacular goals. But it is etched in the brain for most Liverpool fans as it completed our comeback after Milan scored three unanswered goals in the first half.

As a Liverpool supporter I was spoiled with the spectacular moments for the last two seasons. None of them have secured anything as grand as the Champions League trophy, but they’ve led to little doses of glory that have kept hope alive for the future. Starting with Steven Gerrard’s 87th minute long-range free kick against Villa in the 2007-2008 League opener, it seemed like Liverpool were always pulling out last gasp brilliance to rescue points. We jumped higher for those goals. We sang louder. My desktop picture on my computer is still the Liverpool players jumping atop Yossi Benayoun after he scored the only goal in stoppage time against Fulham last season. You actually can’t even see Yossi in the picture. You have to know he’s there. Liverpool didn’t win the season, but that goal secured three points and kept our title hopes alive at the time.

This season it’s not just that Liverpool are struggling with form and results. We also haven’t been blessed with many of those stupefying moments. Those goals that define a match and smack my heart up into my throat. N’Gog’s against Manchester United is definitely the biggest for me so far. Beating United during such a woeful season may serve as the year’s highlight. We held onto a 1-0 lead since the 65th when Torres scored, but against United this is a minuscule advantage and is far more nerve wracking than a nil all scoreline. When stoppage time came around, Liverpool supporters could only think of the recent Manchester derby when stoppage time ticked on and on until Michael Owen scored the winner for the Red Devils. But for us it was young substitute David N’Gog. As we prayed for the final whistle, he got the ball in space, ran at the imposing Edwin van der Sar, picked his moment, and coolly fired the ball into the bottom corner. A massive victory sealed and a young talent showing his stuff for the Reds.

The other, more obvious stupefying moment came more recently against Aston Villa. But I missed it. I was at the pub for that match and watched 80+  minutes of agonizing nil-nil nothingness. But I’d just started a new job. I’d shown up a little late the day before and my manager was not impressed. Scheduled at five the day of the Villa match, I left the pub early to give myself plenty of time to drive to work, find parking and have time to spare. As I was parking, a friend texted me about the Torres goal. And it had taken me no time at all to drive to the new job and find a spot. Far less than I’d anticipated. I had twenty minutes to spare. I could have stayed in the pub until the final whistle and still walked in the door early to the new job. Argh. Later I found the goal on the internet: a Villa defender went in to strip a Liverpool player of possession. The ball popped up and landed in front of an unmarked, onside Fernando Torres. El Nino ran onto it and smacked it low into the far corner. The only goal. All three points. I still got chills watching it hours after it happened (and knowing beforehand what I’d be watching). But I’m kicking myself for not staying in the pub and seeing that moment live. That essential fan experience.

So even though I’ve had to trade my title hopes for top four placement hopes and my Champions League ambitions for Europa Cup ambitions, what I’m really hoping for is more of those stupefying moments. They may not instill the same assurances of my team’s form as a five-nil trouncing. And they may cause extra stress since they often come so late in a tight match, but in the end they are worth it. That incomparable sensation of explosive glory. But they do give you hope to the very end of those nail-biters. You don’t give up on the points until the final whistle blows, because you’ve seen your side pull it out in the end again and again. There’s something special in that. But it takes the players believing it too. You can do it, Liverpool. I know you can. The whistle hasn’t blown yet and their defense is looking tired. Get in there and make it count, boys. Make it count.

Is He Truly Match Fit?

I’m more nervous about this Arsenal match than any other time I’ve awaited Liverpool taking on the Gunners. Well: outside of a European quarterfinal, anyway. It’s the context of this season that has me all wound up. The injuries. The results. The fall from the Champions League. With Liverpool following their best season in nearly two decades and with the series of heartbreaks that defines the current campaign, this match has become bigger than ever.

It’s not just that Liverpool need the win for the points and the sake of the players’ self-confidence. It’s not just that we are waiting to see if those who’ve struggled with injury are truly fit – especially Mssrs Gerrard, Benayoun, Aquilani, Riera and (capital E) Especially one Fernando Torres. The biggest thing for me is this: even when we are in a rut, our players usually play out of their skin against the biggest opposition. Even with big injuries we’ve upset giants (Chelsea and Manchester United last fall) and even after a miserable patch we have a knack for pulling together for a clutch match (notably: the win over Inter after losing to Barnsley in 2008). For me, tomorrow’s match is a thermometer for the season. The reading will tell us if Liverpool can recover from this fall’s many wounds.

But after the miserable results against Lyon and Fiorentina in the group stage, I just don’t know if we’ve got it in our tanks this year. Against Arsenal we should see players like Lucas and Insua transcend their youth and inexperience and make top class stops and services as needed. Against Arsenal we should see Stevie G and El Nino make searing runs and passes and shots while inspiring every other red-shirted player to elevate his game and play better football than they knew they had in them. Against Arsenal we should see our struggling defense call up the essential chemistry to the point it looks like a four-way telepathic rapport is streaming through our back line.

We should see all this. But we won’t know until the day if all the clutter amassing from the losses and draws and countless injuries can be swept from our players’ heads in this potentially cathartic outing. This feels like the kind of match that can turn Liverpool’s results around. This feels like the time to switch on and put the rut behind us.

Though I’m plenty devastated this season, I’m not entirely surprised at our struggles. When we sent Robbie Keane on his way last winter without picking up another striker, I knew we had just taken a big gamble. If Torres and Gerrard both stay fit: Liverpool are fine. If not: who takes on the striking duties with regular conviction? And at that point I did not anticipate the loss of Xabi Alonso.

Alonso and Torres were essential last season not just in what they could do on the ball, but in the opposition players they sucked up when off the ball. Opponents swarmed to these two, scared of what they could do given too much space, and this gave the rest of our side much more space to work with. We don’t get the same treatment with Lucas and N’Gog. (Though N’Gog may some day earn it.) We’ve been crippled by Xabi being gone and Torres being in absentia.

But against Arsenal, if we see Torres back in good form (or at least up for it: remember his goal against United? He was playing through pain then) and if Lucas does his usual trick of transforming into a quality first team player for the big occasions, we should put up a serious fight against the Londoners.

Of course this all might be what I need to tell myself to get through the rest of the time between now and 11am EST. Sometimes I need the pep talk as much as our starting XI. And I have to give it to myself since Rafa doesn’t include me in his pre-match talk.  But no matter how I try to convince myself, I will still be filled with uncertainty and angst.

And so I will struggle to sleep tonight. The kid awaiting Christmas morning yet again. I pray I get to unwrap three points and maybe a brace from Torres just to be safe.

1.) I am not from Liverpool.

2.) The Merseyside derby is almost never pretty. (Every Liverpool victory I’ve seen over Everton inevitably ends with Red supporters in our pub agreeing: “That was an ugly win but I’ll take it.”)

And yet, for me, these fixtures are as exciting (and as anticipated) as battles against Manchester United, Arsenal and Chelsea, even if the match itself turns into a bloodbath with more red cards than convincing attacks.

The thing is the local derby is not a widespread for professional sports in the States. I love it because we barely have them over here. We don’t have many to even mention.

In Major League Soccer the only true derby is between LA Galaxy and Chivas USA who share the Home Depot Center in Carson, California, but neither have really been around long enough to have the deep history of a traditional European derby.

In baseball, the cities of Chicago, New York and LA each have two teams as does California’s Bay Area (the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland Athletics), but these pairs are all split between Major League Baseball’s two leagues, American and National, and since inter-league play wasn’t introduced until 1997, the few contests that arise within these cities don’t have anything close to the feel of a longstanding derby in London or Liverpool or Manchester.

The closest thing in baseball today is probably the Giants and the Dodgers who used to both reside in New York and still play in the same league today. Though they’ve relocated to different parts of California they still enjoy a long-standing rivalry that dates back to when they shared a locality. Hey, at least they’ve got the history down, even if they couldn’t stay put.

The National Football League (gridiron) boasts “the Turnpike Rivarly”, meaning there is only a two-hour drive between the Cleveland Browns and Pittsburgh Steelers. This may seem a long trek compared to the commute from White Hart Lane to Emirates Stadium, but plenty of fans won’t blink before making that journey and it makes it easy for a sizable away contingent: a key ingredient for a good derby.

In basketball, the New York Nicks and the New Jersey Nets are near enough to be considered a derby and are in the same conference as are the Los Angeles teams (Clippers, Lakers) who share the same stadium. But since basketball is a relatively young sport and since all of its teams but two (Boston and New York) have changed cities at one time or another, the local rivalries are missing that deep-rooted history that makes the best football derbies so intense. Someday, we’ll get there.

Of course these handful of stateside derbies or near-derbies don’t pertain to me. I live in Boston. Our big rivals all have some distance between stadiums. I eat and breathe association football (soccer), baseball, basketball and American football (gridiron). (I enjoy hockey but I cannot spare any more brain cells to stressing out over a fifth sport.) Of my favorites, three of our pro teams enjoy rivalries with New York: Revolution/Red Bull, Red Sox/Yankees and Patriots/Jets. (Wait…Is this a sign of New England’s yearning for a derby? Just give us someone closer than New York!) The Revolution also consider Houston a big rival because of the finals we lost to them and Patriots have taken on the Indianapolis Colts/Peyton Manning rivalry. Nothing close to a derby in any of those.

Then there’s Celtics/Lakers. Unless Hawaii or Alaska get a franchise, Boston to Los Angeles is about as far apart as domestic rivals can get. So as you can see: I’ve got derby envy. Thus my love for the Merseyside fixtures.

My favorite so far was the Goodison Park fixture in 2007-08 when we went down by a Hyypia own-goal and then came back with two penalties that each included a blue sending off – this sums up the emotional range of a gritty derby. One of your otherwise most reliable defenders sets you back (with a strange mis-hit clearance that ended up in the roof of the net), then the road to recovery sees your opponents reduced first to ten then to nine men, with the final red card/penalty coming in stoppage time after a Phil Neville handball. (This event also coincides with me adopting the Phoenix Landing as my spot for watching the matches as strangers were hugging me and lifting me off the ground after Kuyt converted his second penalty. Talk about feeling at home.)

This most recent derby was somewhat tame by comparison. Only one yellow card in a Merseyside derby? What were the bookie’s odds on that? Normally these matches are real scrapes, but with both sides looking beleaguered with recent injury woes, we witnessed one of the least physical Merseyside derbies in ages.

When Mascherano took his shot from distance I thought nothing of it at first. He’s been attempting long-range missiles all year to little avail. But next thing I knew it was in the back of the net. We lost our minds in the pub. Jumping and screaming and breaking out “Jav-i-er Masch-er-a-no” (to the tune of “Seven Nation Army” which would be stuck in my head all that day). Later the replay showed the shot wasn’t going in without Joseph Yobo’s deflection. What I don’t get is Yobo was given an own goal – can we get a ruling on this? It bounced off his stationary leg. Just because his leg kicked out afterwards like he’d been hit in the knee with the doctor’s mallet doesn’t mean he scored the goal. It should be called a deflected goal with credit going to Masch. I’m certain Yobo will agree with me.

The rest of the match was predictably nervy. Everton’s Bilyaletdinov missed two clear chances, kicking the ball well wide both times. Leading to me screaming, “Give it to number 7!” whenever Everton had possession. (“Give it to Bilyaletdinov!” just doesn’t roll off the tongue  in the heat of a match in a packed, noisy pub. Sorry, Diniyar.) They also had two go in that were each ruled offside. One call might have been over Jo’s afro. I haven’t gone back to double check. Relief in the end, but moments like these give no reprieve for the football ulcer.

Liverpool looked much better with the additions of Benayoun and Riera in the 75th and 78th minutes and it was Riera who fired a low bullet at Tim Howard allowing Kuyt to plunk home the rebound. The match ended two-nil.

I like that it was Mascherano and Kuyt who secured the points. Two of our hardest-working players in one our traditionally hardest-fought contest. We certainly didn’t play our best football, but in the scheme of the season, with all the injuries and setbacks, those were three much-needed points, and we got them through grinding out a win. That’s the Merseyside derby. It wasn’t pretty, but I’ll take it.

Oh, Martin Skrtel.

Since Sami Hyypia left, I’ve been cheering for Srktel to score from a corner or free kick. I’ve seen some sweet goals from Agger. I’ve even seen Carragher score (and he’s only scored 5 in 594 matches). In the pub, we used to yell for Sami Hyypia to put one back whenever he came forward to try and get his head on the end of a set piece. There’s something extra special about watching a defender put one away. And once Sami left, I wanted to see Skrtel get his first off a set play. Well, it finally went in for him on Saturday. And it wasn’t even a header. The six-foot-four-inch Slovakian knocked Steven Gerrard’s free kick home with his left foot. At the time I was elated.

In retrospect I think the timing may have been awful.

Skrtel put Liverpool up one-nil in the 50th minute against Manchester City. But City’s goals in the 69th and the 76th were scored by unmarked players in the box. Skrtel gave Adebayor acres of space allowing the big man from Togo to head in the equalizer off a corner. Then, later, he left Stephen Ireland completely unmarked, allowing City to score a second. In a game where Liverpool looked dominant throughout, City clawed their way back into it. And Martin Skrtel should have been in place to prevent that.

In the first half, our defense seemed on top of everything, despite the small heart attack we all had when Agger came off in the 11th minute. (When you’ve already got your three best centre backs on the pitch because of defensive injuries, it really feels like the planets are aligned against you when one of them comes off after 11 minutes of play.) I really thought we were finally showing that defensive chemistry we’d been missing for most of the season. Carragher, Krygiacos, Skrtel and Insua were reading each other’s intentions as well as their attackers. This is what we’ve been missing.

But then Skrtel scored. And from that point on it was like his head was already at the pub celebrating while his body remained on the pitch to defend. Even if I’d never seen a football or a net before, if you stuck me on the pitch five minutes after my spaceship had landed and told me to help defend a corner kick against Manchester City, I think I could figure out that cutting off the space between Adebayor and the goal was my chief responsibility.

If only Lucas had been on the end of that first Liverpool goal and Skrtel had been on the end of the header Lucas put off target at the end. Skrtel’s first Liverpool goal should have been a late winner or the fourth in a four-nil massacre. He just wasn’t ready to score a beaut and get back to his defensive responsibilities for forty more minutes. Thankfully, Yossi Benayoun secured us a point before limping off the pitch. But I feel certain if anyone but Skrtel scored that first one, we would have kept our clean sheet.

Of course you can’t tell Skrtel that at the time: “Don’t score here, Martin. It could screw things up later on.” A player must take his goals when he can get them and Skrtel’s goal was a great one and much needed at the time. Hopefully the aftermath stands as a learning experience for the 24-year-old. Next time he scores for Liverpool, he needs to keep his head in the game. Take your run. Do your dance or cheer or whatever. Then get your head together and get back in position and get back to work. Hopefully, he gets to show he’s learned this today, against Debrecen.

For many, cheating is an ugly blight on the beautiful game. Players who break the rules are regularly vilified and criticized. But cheating, when used effectively, can be a great way to help your team out. It is so much easier to score from the penalty spot than from open play with all those pesky defenders around. And you can control the ball so much better with your hand than with your feet. That’s just common sense. And if you want to master such skills for yourself, it is always best to look to the professionals for guidance. So here are  some different styles of cheating, brought to you by some of the very best. Read them and learn…

The Eduardo – Eduardo’s dive for Arsenal against Celtic earlier in the year has been a big talking point since it effectively killed Celtic’s Champions League dreams. But its value to us students lies in its simplicity. Eduardo cruised into space with the ball at his feet and saw the keeper coming toward him. Eduardo kicked the ball forward as Boruc was sliding in and then Eduardo dived. Notice how as he starts the dive he throws his feet underneath his body, almost standing on his tiptoes for a nanosecond. This simulates the body language of being tripped, so even though Boruc is completely behind him, Eduardo is able to hurl his body forward in a convincing manner. The lesson: Good acting is key to a successful dive or simulation.Video. (For further reading pick up a copy of Stanislavski’s A Filthy Diver Prepares.)

The N’Gog – Liverpool’s David N’Gog is a novice, but we can still learn from him and his successful dive against Birmingham City. While he didn’t sell his motion as well as Eduardo (and while the defender’s leg didn’t come anywhere near him), N’Gog remembered an important fact: refereeing is a tough job and there are unwritten rules in professional football that allow the officials to drink before work to help ease their nerves. Unfortunately, the alcohol can at times impair vision, leading to most of the bad offside calls and disallowed goals that we see. But that’s a small price to pay in exchange for having relaxed officials who can bear waking up in the morning. The lesson: When in doubt: dive. The ref is probably drunk. Video.

(Note: Readers may wonder why I’m not bringing up Steven Gerrard in this piece. As a Liverpool supporter, I can only be honest with myself about one LFC player per article. Besides Gerrard never cheats. Next you’re going to tell me Bill Clinton cheated. Absurd. The man said he didn’t have sexual relations with that woman. That’s good enough for me.)

The Pedersen – Most players will wait until their opponent is near them before falling to the ground. This helps convince the ref contact has been made. But Blackburn’s Morgen Gamst Pedersen knows this is a good way to get yourself hurt. What’s the point of a good dive if you are only going to impale yourselves on your opponents studs or get your legs tangled up with his on the way down? Take a page out of MGP’s book from his dive against Arsenal and go down before the defender is anywhere near you. While this is less likely to get the call, it decreases the likelihood of a torn hamstring or broken metatarsal. Also it keeps you safe from your “tackler’s” potentially violent outburst if you are actually awarded the penalty. The lesson: Live to dive another day.Video.

The Drogba – From Didier Drogba we look to no one incident, but an overall routine. Drogba will go through a similar series of steps for each dive, fine-tuning his art with every tumble:

1.) Even if you are the sturdiest, strongest player around, make sure to fall down after the slightest of touches from anybody.

2.) Once down roll around on the ground clutching your shin and scrunching up your face in pain like you’re having your gall bladder removed without any anesthesia.

3.) Now – and this is the most important part – once play resumes, get up and run around like nothing was ever wrong with you. Lesser players would limp about and pretend to still be hurt or – even worse – stay off the pitch while getting examined by the physios. This is wrong! Think of how many other diving opportunities you are missing when you waste time like that!

The lesson: Get on with it. Don’t let one dive run your life. Get up and get ready for the next chance to cheat.

The Ronaldo – Once you’ve mastered The Pedersen and perfected The Drogba, you are ready for The Ronaldo. Cristiano Ronaldo has taken his world-class level of control with the ball and translated it to a world-class level of diving. Notice in the slow-motion part of the video (complete with lilting opera music in the background to emphasize the artistry on display), Ronaldo manages to twist his body around the other player’s leg, avoiding contact and avoiding injury while hurdling his body forward to create the illusion of being tripped. This is like The Pedersen only Ronaldo is close enough to his opponent to make the foul look real. And he regularly finishes with the rolling around and the getting on with it that makes The Drogba so successful. This is why Ronaldo is the consummate diver. He’s got everything: the skill, the finesse, the acting. He even manages real tears on a regular basis. And don’t forget his personal touch: Ronaldo has also been known to applaud the referee after the booking and kick have been awarded – the same way a striker might clap or give a thumbs up after a great pass or cross. Always remember to show appreciation for an assist. The lesson: diving is a complex art, study and master all its facets.

The Henry – I won’t spend to much time on this one since it’s been well covered on EPL Talk, but M. Henry has recently reminded us as he scored against Ireland for France yesterday, diving isn’t the only way to cheat. We must recognize the value of a good unacknowledged handball. Diego Maradona first popularized this method with the famous “Hand of God” goal in 1986. But where Maradona used his hand to score the goal directly, Henry took care to slap it to his own knee before knocking it to his teammate to score. So a hand, a knee and a head were all involved in the goal. The lesson: the two legal body parts obscure the use of the illegal one. That’s simple math, kids. Video (like you haven’t seen it 8,000 times today).

The Letterman – Okay, so this one isn’t part of the same sport, but it is a kind of cheating that requires balls. And I’m not talking pure physiology. This year, famed American talk show host David Letterman was threatened with blackmail over past sexual affairs with various members of his staff. Letterman’s response was to come forth and expose the blackmail even though it also meant exposing his infidelity (lots of exposing all around). He addressed the matter with the authorities and with the public including discussing it on his show. And while we don’t know just what it has done to his home life, his career seems to remain intact. And now, less-funny American talk-show host Jay Leno is considering sleeping with some of his staff to see if he can boost his own ratings in his new time slot. The lesson: Honesty is the best policy. (Note: This might only be the best policy when you are rich, successful and hilarious. Of course you will already need to be all of these things if you look like David Letterman and expect anybody to sleep with you.) Video.

There you have it. Lessons from the best. Now get out there and start putting all this to good use. And if you think of any great teachers I’ve forgotten, let me know in the comment section. Perhaps they’ll make it into my next lesson plan.

We’ve previewed him in a Liverpool kit. I didn’t get to watch the Arsenal match live but here’s a YouTube video highlighting his Red debut:

The bicycle kick that fired the ball into Senderos’s arms and led to pleas for handball was the biggest Aquilani talking point of the match, but for me his seer-like long pass to Degen was the thing that gave me chills and made me wonder if this is a glimpse of our next Xabi Alonso. (Hoping hoping hoping). And keep in mind while watching that highlight reel: Aquilani was only on the pitch for 13 minutes.

He also came on briefly in the draw against Birmingham. Even less time on the pitch (on in the 82nd) but some good touches and at least one fiery pass.

The LFC PR machine has been grinding out articles assuring us that Aquilani can live up to the hype his price tag has created. Mssrs Riise, Dossena, Totti and Dalglish have all let us know this kid can be great. Aquilani has talked about how great Liverpool’s physios have been, better than those in Italy and he thinks he can stay fit etc, etc.

But until we see him run out for a start and/or until we see him shell out a half hour or more of play, there’s no way of knowing just what the £20m has brought to this struggling Liverpool side.

Recent big summer signings have had a visible and fairly immediate impact on the Liverpool side: Fernando Torres exploded from the start, scoring a beautiful goal against Chelsea on his Anfield debut before spending the season breaking Ruud van Nistelrooy’s record for Most Goals Scored by a Foreigner in a Debut Season in England. (The record itself apparently holds the record for Most Likely to Forget What Point You Were Making While You Say the Entire Name of the Record… oh yeah… big summer signings…)

Robbie Keane, while seeming a failure to those obsessed with stats such as “how many sitters he missed” (you nitpickers), really did influence the team and results from the start, drawing defenders away from his teammates, creating space and chances and being the consummate teammate even when he wasn’t getting the goals. Liverpool would not have beaten United that fall without Robbie Keane. I’m sure of it. It would have been nice to get more goals from Mr Keane, but he made his mark in a great Liverpool season and influenced results from the beginning of his brief tenure.

And before that Mascherano, Reina and Alonso each came in, giving us visible contributions and changing the team for the better in short amounts of time.

This past summer Liverpool dropped a huge bundle of cash securing Glen Johnson with immediate return: the defender scored two goals in his first four Premier League appearances for Liverpool. And he’s mostly looked great on the pitch, especially when he gets forward and carves out a deadly feed for somebody else.

But Aquilani is another story. He was broken when we bought him. His reputation as a creative, box-to-box midfielder with great vision precedes him, but there no way to tell how he’s going to improve Liverpool and live up to said reputation until he gets out there for a long, healthy stretch of time.

In his brief appearance against Birmingham (the Aquilani outing I got to watch – as I’m not Dennis Wise, I’m not going to assess a player purely from YouTube footage), I saw a spark. His stints have been short, but he’s worked hard in those short spells. He’s got that gleam in his eye. He wants to prove he’s up to the task. He wants to prove his injuries are behind him. He wants to hone in on that teammate with the killer angle on goal and boot the ball into that man’s path.

I know part of it is I want him to remind me of Alonso because I want him to prove to be a true replacement for Xabi, but he really does remind me of Alonso! Even if it has only been in tiny doses and in tiny moments… yes, okay, the YouTube video is entering into my sense of things…  but it’s part of the bigger picture! Again, I’m not imitating Mr Wise, here. YouTube is just part of the information I’m taking in. (Sorry, I get defensive when I use short internet clips. They are too easy to access and don’t give the whole story, but, dammit, they have their use.) Anyway, that Alonso-like potential just feels like it’s there. So I’m a wishful thinker. Thus the Christmas Eve comparison.

Gerrard looks to start against City on Saturday. Will Aquilani be there as well? I truly hope so. I hope the dude makes his mark early the way Torres did. I hope he slots the ball through to Gerrard or N’Gog or Kuyt and assists in the kind of goal that replays in the mind for weeks. Or, even better, I hope he scores with a heat-seeker from distance. That’s not too much to ask, right? A minor miracle to lift us out of our slump? I am sitting here in my pajamas, in front of the tree, waiting for morning to come, hoping to watch Rafa unwrap a fit, explosive Alberto Aquilani who helps turn this season around. Amen.

(PS – I spent that whole Christmas-themed article working hard not to make a cheap N’Gog/Eggnog joke. Aren’t you proud of me? Thank you. Thank you. And thank you.)

And he wants to ask everybody he meets with an English accent which club they support.

I was in a similar place when I first fell for the English Premier League and for Liverpool. But I work in restaurants in America. I live off tips. I’ve learned to add football to my list of things I don’t bring up with customers (the other big ones are politics and religion).

The first time I made the mistake wasn’t totally disastrous. There was a regular named James at the pub where I worked in New Hampshire. I was never adept at pinpointing the geography of an English accent. I knew James was from the North but I didn’t know where. But at the time I was living among New Hampshirites who typically responded to the statement I watch a lot of soccer with why on earth? and so I was ready to ask any Brit (or Spaniard, or German, or Italian… well, any non-American, really) if they followed football, hoping for some good sporting banter.

“I used to,” said James, the day I finally breeched the subject. “Not so much lately.” Did I detect a sullen undertone in his voice?

“Who did you follow,” I persisted.

“Leeds United,” said James. It was a Leeds accent. James was from Leeds. He’d supported the former giants Leeds United whose financial disaster saw them fall from the upper echelon into the Coca-Cola Championship. The conversation about football died right there.

That season Leeds nearly came back up to the Premier League. I was quietly hoping for their promotion. Then maybe James would take a renewed interest and I could talk football with him for at least a year. But Leeds didn’t come up. And at the next season’s end they went down another division.

I finally learned the lesson later on with a family from Manchester. A father, a mother and a son. The kid was already talking football when I came up to the table. Where are you folks from? Manchester, they said. City or United? I asked lightly. Neither, they said. They were Everton supporters.

I wasn’t going to mention my love for Liverpool FC, but the father had seen some glimmer in my eye. “Who do you support?” he asked.

“Oh, I’d rather not say,” I said. Apparently, I didn’t need to. They guessed. After some seemingly friendly verbal abuse from them toward me, I thought we laughed it off enough and I switched to talking about the state of football in America (they seemed impressed I called it football), but when I collected the bill, they’d stiffed me on the tip. And that’s when I learned to stop bringing up football with customers (unless they were wearing a Liverpool jersey or had a Liverbird tattoo). And I warned Doug, telling him these two stories.

But Doug came up to me the other day and nodded over toward two of our customers (we were sharing a section and thus sharing the tips). “Their team is Newcastle United,” he said eagerly. I cringed, remembering James. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I was tactful. I told them I was learning about English football and asked if they followed it at all.” The couple were watching us and they were smiling and nodding. Doug had told them I followed English football too.

I went over.

I won points at the start by using the word Geordie in a sentence: “My friend Ed’s wife is a Geordie.”

“At least he knows what a Geordie is,” said the man to his wife. I admitted Ed was a Liverpool supporter (surely giving myself away if Doug hadn’t already) and told how we’d joked in previous seasons that Ed slept on the couch whenever Newcastle lost a match. So since their relegation he was sleeping on the couch for a year. They smirked. (Was I endearing myself with this anecdote or digging the hole deeper? Crap! It’s my only Geordie story!) I quickly said I felt sure Newcastle would come back up. And I meant this. They seemed to believe me. We talked about sports in New England (the two of them have lived here for years) and how it had been easy for them to fall in love with the pre-2003 Red Sox whose annual habits were then similar to the Magpies’: starting each season with tons of promise and then blowing it by the end. I politely restated my certainty that Newcastle would be promoted again and I returned to my other tables.

Doug collected the tip from the Geordies. I never asked if it was decent. But it couldn’t have been too bad because the next day he was at it again. He discovered one of the regulars was a Charlton Athletic supporter. He immediately started talking football with him. (At least this guy sat at the bar and didn’t affect our income.) Doug wasn’t struck down by lighting. The Charlton supporter was still grinning and laughing in the end.

Maybe Doug’s got the charm to pull it off. Maybe that gleam in my eye gives me away and they can smell I can’t fake neutrality. Either way I’m resuming my football silence with customers. It’s just too risky to bring it up. I’ve been burned once. I won’t let it happen again. At work I’ll stick to far less controversial topics like euthanasia, prostitution and dogfighting. I know where to draw the line.

Liverpool Need Their Roar Back

Liverpool aren’t scaring anybody these days. Danny Murphy pointed this out during the Liverpool/Birmingham City half-time show. Unfortunately, he’s too right.

Against Birmingham, Liverpool spent more time with the ball than an NBA forward playing one-on-one with a ten-year-old kid. The Reds completed something like five times as many passes, and they kept the ball in Birmingham’s end so much the Birmingham players nearly changed into swim suits and took out their cameras whenever they made an attack because it must have felt like they were on holiday the rare times they approached the Liverpool goal.

But still, Birmingham were not afraid.

They were facing a Liverpool that had only one win in the last eight outings. (The commentators informed me if we lost again it would be our worst start to a season in 45 years. Who needs coffee? If that doesn’t wake you up on match day, there’s not enough caffeine on the planet.) On top of that, Birmingham entered the match with the second to least amount of goals conceded in the League. So they were content to let Liverpool keep crashing into the wall and capitalize on two of the few opportunities they were given. They haven’t lost to Liverpool in their last six encounters and they are exactly the kind of side to give Liverpool problems no matter how the Reds are playing.

But when N’Gog scored the opener, I thought for sure we had this.

It was one of those rare times when I decided to watch from home. I made myself a cup of coffee in my Liverpool mug (before I heard the 45-year thing), put a penny in the Liverpool piggy bank and wrapped myself in my Liverpool fleece. Short of going out and buying a six pack of Carlsberg and dying a glass of beer red, I had all my superstitious bases covered. (I need to stop mixing my sport metaphors, don’t I?)

When N’Gog scored I launched myself in the air, banged my shin on the coffee table and jumped around the hardwood floor like I’d just won the lottery. My neighbors downstairs must have wondered what the hell was going on. Three in the afternoon on a Monday and the ceiling is shaking. Nothing to worry about here, girls.

This goal lifted me doubly. First of all because we were ahead and we were dominating Birmingham. Secondly, because N’Gog’s goal was brilliant. It started with a fantastic run from Glen Johnson (one of Liverpool’s recent returnees from injury who actually looks like he’s back to fitness) who put the ball in for Dirk Kuyt. Kuyt’s shot was deflected but Yossi Benayoun got to it and hurled it back into the area. He found N’gog who hit the first-time volley into the roof of the net.

To me this goal coupled with his collected effort against Manchester United are signs of a player coming to maturity. Young N’Gog is bursting with confidence and ready to go at it with the big boys. This is of great reassurance with Torres still struggling with injury.

But my glee didn’t live for long. From a free kick (of course) Birmingham created a chance for Christian Benitez to head the equalizer past Reina. Glen Johnson had kept him onside and “Chucho” ate up the free header.

It’s alright, I said. We’re still dominating. We’re still playing the way we should be. Good pressure. Dominant possession. Something’s going to go in!

But fate shook its head. As half-time neared, Albert Riera (fresh back from the physio’s) was on the ground clutching his hamstring. He couldn’t continue. As I heard the roar of the crowd I thought they were only applauding Riera’s efforts. But the camera cut to Steven Gerrard taking off his warm-up kit. Stevie G. The captain was about to come on. If he was close to fit he could turn the match upside down. Was he fit though?

When the minutes were announced, I thought it was just enough time for Liverpool to make a statement. Retake the lead before the break. Let them know who’s in charge of this match.

But instead it proved to be enough time for Birmingham to break our hearts. On 47 minutes Cameron Jerome took the ball down on his chest, warded off Mascherano with his left arm, set himself up and fired the ball from about 18,000 miles away from goal. And it went in. It was one of those goals that is glorious to behold even as it tears your heart out of your chest and throws it in the waste paper basket.

Half time.

This was tough to take, but I still felt we could win. Liverpool were playing the way they were supposed to. Driving forward. Using the wings. Charging into the area. The finishing wasn’t there except for that one brilliant N’Gog moment, but I felt sure we’d figure it out. Birmingham don’t score very often and it was unfortunate they’d converted two in the first half, but we could contain them and turn it around. Plenty of time.

Now, I complain about diving a lot. I’ve fumed over Ronaldo’s flops. I’ve accused Drogba of cheating us out of the Champions League. I’ve called for retroactive punishment against Eduardo. So when David N’Gog tumbled over Lee Carsley’s leg and the replay showed there had been no contact at all, I was at war with myself inside myself. It was an ugly dive. N’Gog should have stayed up or waited for contact. But dammit we need the goal! I was sick about the dive but when Steven Gerrard stepped to the spot and belted it home, I was thankful for the penalty. In my defense, I spent the rest of the match praying we’d get two more so that N’Gog’s dive wouldn’t be the determining moment.

But no more goals came. And what’s worse: Yossi Benayoun pulled up before the match was over, clutching his hamstring. It’s bad enough Riera was only back for forty-five minutes before going off again, but now the player who’s been the most threatening for us with Torres and Gerrard going missing was coming off injured as well.

Now, Manchester United are not as good as they were last season. With Ronaldo gone and Giggs and Scholes showing their aging, the Champs are a weaker outfit. But they still put the fear into their opponents and they still have that inimitable confidence that comes with being Manchester United. Even when they are struggling they still have the grit (and the reputation) to make the difference and eke out a result on a bad day. (Unless they are down to Chelsea in which case they just start fouling everybody and then bitch to the ref like they are being persecuted every time he blows the whistle. So Chelsea’s reputation precedes them as well.)

Liverpool, however, have lost this kind of edge. Even when we’ve struggled in seasons past we’ve still had the mentality of being a top four side that is hard to beat. If we blew it one week, we’d come back the next. Sides still feared us. Our players still believed they could come back no matter how little time was left. This was evidenced in all the late winners of last season.

But now, with this extended rut, Liverpool’s confidence is shattered and our opponents come at us with the belief they can extend our miserable streak.

I thought the match against United would turn things around. And then we didn’t play badly against Lyon. But that essential mentality is missing. We need to get it back. I’m not even worried about silverware this season anymore. I just want to see Liverpool play well and reestablish the winning chemistry. Even if we don’t make it out of the Champions League group stage (unlikely anyway) and finish sixth in the League (feeling like a real possibility at the moment), I’ll feel better about everything if we just play with conviction and put that fear back into our opponents from here on.

Of all our many problems that’s the biggest one.

So… to review… for Liverpool to qualify for the Champions League round of sixteen one of the following scenarios needs to occur:

1.) Liverpool beat Debrecen AND Lyon beat Fiorentina AND Liverpool beat Fiorentina.

2.) Liverpool beat Debrecen AND Lyon draw with Fiorentina AND Liverpool beat Fiorentina by at least three goals.

3.) Liverpool beat Debrecen AND Fiorentina’s players are abducted by space aliens and replaced with cyborg footballers (this invokes an ancient Uefa rule that states any match influenced by extra-terrestrial involvement is automatically forfeit – see: Wolves v. Martians, 1972).

Curse you, Lisandro Lopez, for putting us in this position with your (gorgeous) late strike.

Of course going into the match I had an uneasy feeling. After all, Voronin was starting again. And since Pepe Reina is more likely to take a shot on goal, this usually doesn’t bode well for Liverpool.

But – and I hesitate to say this (in fact I’ll check my temperature after finishing this sentence just to make sure I’m not running a fever or a black plague or anything) – Voronin actually looked good to me in the opening minutes. My two thoughts were:

– Maybe he just needs to play the continental matches, like the year Dirk Kuyt couldn’t score in England but tore it up in the Champions League. And…

– Oh God, what if Voronin actually scores? I think I’ll be more mad at him if he comes up good. I mean I’ll take the goal but still… when one bemoans a player every week and then he scores the clutch goal in a teetering Champions League campaign, it leaves one feeling stupid.

Of course Voronin is too awful to let me down (so to speak) on that last point. Liverpool’s best looking chance in the first half came when Mascherano put Voronin in on goal, one-on-one with Hugo Lloris. At first I thought it was Torres on the ball. I blame the grainy TV feed (when are we going to get all the matches in high-def already?) and the positioning made the player look like someone with pace. Then I saw the flutter of the ponytail. It was Voronin. Still. One-on-one. All those goals scored in the Bundesliga. There was no way he was going to fu… and he kicked it straight at the keeper. Did they ban all goalkeepers in the Bundesliga last season and nobody told me?

The first half ended and we consoled ourselves knowing we had more chances than Lyon. Along with Voronin’s “attempt”, Dirk Kuyt took a cheeky first-time lob on target (it would have been one of the best goals of the campaign if Lloris hadn’t managed to get a hand to it) and Torres took a shot in traffic but couldn’t get it off quite right.

In the second half things looked up when Rafa took Voronin off and put Babel on.

Not that Babel’s lived up to potential that much more than the Ukranian but he does shoot on goal, he does have pace, and this was the perfect scenario for him: a match Liverpool all but need to win and a chance to prove his worth after a dismal start to the season.

Sure enough, Babel got his chance in the 83rd minute. A screaming shot from distance. It rattled into the back of the net and we went mad. It almost a carbon copy of his late goal against Chelsea in the Champions League two years ago. Unbelievable. Seven minutes to go and we’d been defending well. It looked like a win. A much needed win.

Although, I should have mentioned the fright we got before Babel’s goal.

On 79 minutes Lisandro Lopez streaked in, turned two of our defenders, gave himself a clear look on goal and took a ballsy shot. He curled it wide but what a signal of intent. A fraction of a second more to set himself and that shot is on target and likely going in.

So when Lisandro ran onto the bouncing ball in the 90th and none of the Liverpool defenders seemed to know where he or the ball was going – when he burst into space, I just knew he was going to make us pay. It was that inevitability we see going in our direction when Torres carves out a decent swath for himself in sight of goal. Only this time it was an opposition player and two points hanging timidly in the air. And everything came crashing down as Lisandro’s shot sailed home. It was breathtaking. It was devastating.

So all I ask (in case the space aliens don’t show up in time) is that Lisandro carves out a couple chances like that against Fiorentina. Liverpool need the planets to align if we’re to survive the group stage. But a couple Argentine wonder goals toward a Lyon win would help put us back in sight and then we’d only be in need of a couple miracles of our own. That’s not too much to ask.

I sidled up to my friend Jay, who was shaking his head as he saw me approach. “Just awful,” he said. “We’ve been awful.”

I parked myself in front of one of the many TVs and tried to get my match bearings. Liverpool had possession. We were building things up toward goal. Someone passed the ball into the middle… and that’s when I saw… the ponytail! The ponytail? Voronin was starting??

You see, as I’d been sick all week, I’d spent most of my home hours in bed under a pile of blankets. I missed the Arsenal match and I’d fallen behind on most things Liverpool. While I could live with myself sleeping through the Carling Cup, I was not missing a League match for anything. The Fulham match was only on Setanta which I didn’t have at home, so I dragged myself out into the world for two hours. But I didn’t realize until I saw our starters that Liverpool were sicker than I.

Voronin, Degen and Kyrgiacos all in the starting XI. Eccelston, Ayala, Gulasci, Plessis, Ayala and Spearing all on the very youthful bench. At least Torres was starting. I knew Gerrard and Riera were still out but I had no idea that N’Gog, Aurelio, Agger, Skrtel, Johnson had been added to the list of casualties. I knew Aquilani had been given some minutes at Emirates, but now he was nowhere in sight.

Liverpool looked sluggish and uninspired as they chased the equalizer. I learned Bobby Zamora had scored in the 24th minute and it had been poor marking that had opened the door.

Where was the Liverpool who’d beaten Manchester United 2-0 the week before? Largely in the hospital, it would seem, along with that winning mentality.

But shortly before the half our faith was restored. The ball fell to Torres on the edge of the area and he smacked the volley into the back of the net. A stunning, confident goal. Just the thing to fire Liverpool up coming into the second half.

Or not.

Decent pressure in the early parts second half but no real spark to compliment Torres’ goal. Then Torres came off for Ryan Babel. It was clear El Nino still hadn’t recovered completely from injury. As with the United match, he’d played against Fulham less than fit and out of necessity.

On 73 minutes, Dirk Kuyt made a bumble and gave Paul Konchesky the ball and the space to send a deadly cross into the area. Gera headed it to Nevland who put it past Reina.

Any faint hopes that our side could equalize again were quashed when Philip Degen went in on Clint Dempsey. Not a particularly dangerous challenge but the ref must have felt his studs were up. Straight red card. Three minutes later Jamie Carrager would see red as well after taking down Zamora. Carragher was the last man so he was gone. Dempsey would score again in the 87th minute, but nine-man Liverpool showed little sign of coming back from 2-1 so the third goal changed little except make our hearts sink a little bit lower into our ankles.

I know I need to look at this match the context of Liverpool’s overwhelming injury woes. But ultimately this result made for the biggest footballing disappointment I’ve known. Part of it was the performance. Part of it was the sinking feeling that came from two red cards in three minutes. Part of it was it meant we’d now lost six matches in seven outings. The biggest part was that one week after one of the most satisfying wins I’ve known (the 2-0 over United with great goals from Torres and N’Gog) came such a devastating loss against Fulham. So quickly falling from the highest peak into a ravine in a gulch in a valley.

A week ago Liverpool felt back in the title race. Six points behind Chelsea. Now the result and our painful lack of depth makes the nine point gap seem so much greater than it probably is. The United win now seems a stranded oasis in the desert of loss.

Of course many will call for Rafa’s head. Many will restart the tired arguments of how Liverpool are a two-man team. But all the best managers would struggle with that many injuries. And after beating United without Gerrard and with Torres less than fit, the two-man argument remains meaningless.

The real problems are:

-We haven’t fully replaced Xabi Alonso (a more influential player last season than Torres or Gerrard).

-Our defense hasn’t remained consistently fit long enough for any four players to develop the essential chemistry to remain impregnable.

-We don’t have suitable backup for Torres.

When Robbie Keane left I felt the pangs of this last worry. Not because I thought we should have kept Keane per ce, but because we brought in no new striker when Keane left. N’Gog is full of potential but is far from full bloom. Dirk Kuyt is one of our most important players but is really a midfielder. We’ve spent so much time converting Babel to being a winger I’m not sure he remembers how to be a striker. Voronin… well… if Voronin is a Premier League striker than I am a Premier League striker (note: I am not a Premier League striker unless there’s a video game console involved).

Chelsea have Anelka and Drogba. They can play one or the other or both together. If Rooney gets injured United still have Berbatov and Owen. Arsenal have ample strikers and everybody on their side looks ready to attack at any given moment anyway.

But if Liverpool loses Torres for any amount of time, there is no suitable cover.

I hope the men with the money see this. I hope they see it soon. While players are more expensive in the January window, this is the time for an expensive coup. Go after somebody who can play up front by himself or compliment Torres in a partnership. Buy somebody born to score. My dream would be to capture David Villa. We already know from the Internationals he can play alongside El Nino. And he can get the job done by himself too. When we still had Xabi I would have felt we’d had enough Spanish draw to lure Villa if the price was right. Now I’m not so sure. But I’ll keep hoping.

We need somebody anyway. Honestly, right now, I’d take Bellamy back golf clubs and all (I’m not sure I mean that but bear with me). I’d take Crouch without hesitation. I’d take Darren Bent. More likely we’ll import if we grab anybody. I’d love to get our paws on Kun Aguero.

Even if Aquilani comes in and lives up to expectations, Liverpool supporters will still have small heart attacks every time Torres hits the ground and clutches his leg or ankle. And defenses clearly won’t stop pummeling him. They’re too afraid of what he can do unchecked. This has nothing to do with having a two-man team. It has everything to do with having one world class striker and nobody near him in quality up front to play when he gets injured. We can play without Gerrard if we have to. I convulse at the thought of being without Torres right now. Something needs to be done.

We tend to play our best against the strongest opposition (I thought our outing against Chelsea was one of our best performances of the season except for – of course – the two moments that led to their two goals) and Fernando Torres was on the starting team sheet. These thoughts came as desperately needed consolation as did the return of Glen Johnson. But still: this was United. Even if they were on a forty match losing streak and we’d just broken Arsenal’s unbeaten record, I’d still lose sleep the night before fretting over the outcome of this match.

As the first half unfolded I started to feel better. We looked tight. We looked determined. Our attacks were convincing. Our defense looked cohesive.The side that had lost to Sunderland and a beach ball was nowhere in sight.

United looked strong too, though. Van der Sar made some brilliant saves – especially his double stopping of Fabio Aurelio’s delicious free kick and Dirk Kuyt’s rebound. Rooney looked like the man most likely to score on us (and I wouldn’t be able to relax until N’Gog made his mark simply because Wayne Rooney needs only the smallest of chances to break through and turn a match on its head), but Carra and the rest of our defense kept vigilant and when the half-time whistle blew and we still had a clean sheet my confidence that we could win had returned. Lyon, Sunderland, Chelsea, Fiorentina: these seemed distant memories, overshadowed by the task at hand.

No goals yet but it had been a lively, gripping match. Both sides were playing well.

The first twenty minutes of the second half were as riveting. Both sides hacked away at each other. My feeling that the Liverpool goal must come grew steadily. With no Steven Gerrard, the task inevitably fell to Torres. In the 65th minute Yossi (who’d been on fire all match) slotted a perfect ball into space for Torres to gobble up. Rio Ferdinand was quickly on El Nino’s heels, trying to keep up. Dirk Kuyt was unmarked to the left and many of the world’s best players probably would have passed to the Dutchman who had the clearer angle on goal. But Torres smelled his chance. With little room to work and with Ferdinand contemplating a tug, Torres fired the ball upward into the back of the net.

Our pub absolutely exploded. We threw ourselves into the air in one jubilant mass. We screamed. I lost track of where the ground was below me but trusted their were enough bodies around me to keep me upright as the coffee, Guinness and pure joy swirled through my veins. I had one arm around my friend Jamie and one arm around some guy I don’t think I’d seen before. The latter was wearing a plain black shirt and I was quickly relieved when he threw his arm around my shoulder and started jumping and screaming too (I was afraid for a second I’d thrown my arm around a United supporter who might not share my glee just then).

When the initial roar died down, two sections of the room were singing the Torres song. Our section was slightly behind because we hadn’t been able to hear the others start into it. Just before we get to the Na Na Na Na’s, my friend Niall yelled, “Bounce!” And most of the room started jumping up and down again. One almost forgot there was still much football to be watched (and not enough difference in the scoreline to stop fretting away).

Our roar settled down, and we reclaimed our pint glasses and worry, but that buzz of optimism and pride was swelling up in our chests and heads.

But the many remaining minutes (30 of them when we include the 5 min of stoppage time that materialized out of the Merseyside air) would be nervy. There was still Rooney to hold back. And Berbatov – for all the talk of his laziness the guy has an immaculate first touch and can carve himself enough freedom to score or assist with little to no notice. And United kept winning some dangerous set pieces, which hasn’t been our forte on the defensive side of things this season.

One came just outside the box after Jamie Carragher was booked for fouling Michael Owen. The United players crowded the ref, demanding Carra be sent off for being last man. Fergie was out of his seat screaming bloody murder. Carra stayed on, but I was wringing my hands: I’d seen Giggs put one away from a similar area this season.

The kick came to nothing and my friend Jamie started to sing “Don’t You Wish You Had Ronaldo?” to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic (good for so many things). A bunch of us joined in. For a moment it was my favorite song ever.

At this point I was filled with mixed feelings. At once I felt certain we had this while being in eternal doubt because after all: IT WAS UNITED.

Then, strangely, Vidic was booked. Not that he didn’t deserve it after his foul on Kuyt. But he was already on a yellow and while I’d joked about Vidic taking the long walk (only because he’d been sent off the last two times we faced United) I didn’t really expect it to happen. What are the odds? Vidic is now three-for-three. It’s almost becoming a tradition. (Fergie would later complain about the officiating and ask if Andre Marriner was too inexperienced for such a big match. Perhaps a more seasoned ref would have spotted Berbatov’s first-half penalty area foul on Dirk Kuyt. Kuyt’s shirt was torn but Berbatov – already on a yellow – remained on the pitch. Somehow, I don’t think Fergie used this example in his complaints, though.)

But before I could get too excited about United being reduced to ten men, Javier Mascherano, also on a yellow – at this point I think everybody including the unused substitutes and were all on yellows – made a needless sliding tackle on van der Sar. Off. Ten against ten. I took some consolation that we only lose Masch for today’s Carling Cup match rather than next weekend’s league fixture.

How often have United dashed hopes in the dying minutes? Countless times last season. Of course Ronaldo was so often at the heart of that and now he was gone (“Don’t You Wish You Had Ronaldo?”). But I still wouldn’t count United out of it – I still couldn’t relax until in the depths of stoppage time – as we all screamed at the nearest television: “BLOW THE FUCKING WHISTLE!!!” – substitute David N’Gog collected a pass with nobody marking him (Vidic would surely have been all over the kid). One-on-one with van der Sar, N’Gog coolly shot it low into the far corner. The Kop exploded. Pepe Reina ran the length of the pitch to pounce on the young Frenchman for securing our victory. Carra, the day’s captain, proudly shot N’Gog a thumbs up, beaming like a father. We couldn’t be undone now. The day was ours. What little voice I had left after the first goal now climbed into the ceiling tiles and we sang and cheered and bounced again.

Both the wins last season over United were peaks in a strong campaign. But this win is my new favorite against our biggest rivals. It came when we needed it most in a run that’s been marked by struggle and disappointment. We put an end to a dire losing streak and we put ourselves back in the title race by securing three points against the Champs. Now, six points behind Chelsea,we can, at least for now, go back to dreaming about title number 19.

Hopefully this match sparks a run of good form. If we’d played like this the last couple of weeks, there would have been no losing streak to discuss. Normally, in a match I start speculating between 60 and 75 minutes (depending on how we’re doing) on which player Rafa will sub off first. Against United on Sunday I couldn’t have told you. All the starters deserved to be on that pitch. Everybody contributed to the result. Everybody chased down those points like their lives depended on the result. Later, I found out Torres played through lingering pain, so his coming off for N’Gog makes perfect sense in retrospect. And now Torres’ goal seems all the more brilliant when I think he wasn’t even at 100% and he pulled that off. Legend.

Liverpool supporters needed this win. It doesn’t mean all our problems are solved this season. But it gives us a serious recharge. It brings the belief and hope back when both were teetering. It shows these players have the right stuff in their tanks, they just need to learn how to call up this mentality every week. Not just against United and Chelsea. Strong outings against Arsenal today and especially against Fulham on Saturday will do a lot to reinforce the statement they made against United Sunday. My pre-match bravado is back to full fitness for the time being.

Okay, The Beach Ball Moment was ridiculous and surreal and I am still trying to remember if it really happened or if it was part of a dream I had after late night pizza and video games. But it alone did not cost Liverpool the points at the Stadium of Light. Bent’s shot deflected off the foreign object and went in on 5 minutes. Liverpool then had more than an hour-and-a-half (when we remember the seven minutes of second-half stoppage time) to rectify the situation. But from Bent’s “goal” onward, they played like the match was over and done.

The Liverpool of last season would have let that early goal against be the spark, the lighting rod to spur them into the winning mindset. But our attacks were unconvincing and languid. And in all that time we never took control of the match. Without the balloon goal, we were still drawing Sunderland at best. We needed maximum points to keep believing the title is still in reach. We were never coming away from that fixture with more than a point.

Then, against Lyon yesterday, I started to think we were snapping out of it. Even when Steven Gerrard came off with his injury flaring up again, Liverpool looked like they could keep the French side on the back foot and come away with the win.

Yossi’s measured shot was fantastic. He took the ball in the box, calmly aligned himself and fired it past the keeper. Another sure sign that LFC’s favorite Israeli international should start every week.

Substitute Fabio Aurelio also made a great impact once on. With Gerrard gone, Fabio looked like he knew what needed to be done and he kept creating chances and even had a beautiful shot on goal which I am still amazed the Lyon keeper saved. He put one hand up to Fabio’s effort just in time.

The side was maintaining good pressure after the first goal and I felt sure we’d get another. (Until Rafa subbed Yossi off, I felt sure Yossi would get another. Voronin for Yossi. I almost threw up.)

But when Lyon got the equalizer, we collapsed. Pepe Reina made two fantastic saves in quick succession but couldn’t secure the ball and Lyon’s third attempt went in.

In stoppage time we conceded again.

Losses to Lyon and Fiorentina. We beat Debrecen, but they put up an amazing fight at Anfield and I only see them giving us a tougher contest when we visit them in Hungary. I felt so good about this group when we drew these teams. I knew nothing of Debrecen, but I saw Fiorentina and Lyon as sides who would inspire us to great performances. We usually rise to the challenge of stiff opposition. Now it looks as though we won’t live to see the round of 16.

Our title hopes, which were so fresh and alive last season, look more dismal by the day and barring a win against Manchester United (which takes on the old feelings of impossibility despite doing the double over them last season), it’ll be hard to muster up the optimism that this season can produce anything tangible by season’s end.

Mostly though I just feel crushed. Last year held so much promise. I saw us building on that campaign with a firmer grasp on the League and Europe this year. Now, every match seems a struggle. The confidence, the drive Liverpool seemed to have in excess last season must have pulled a hamstring or broken its metatarsal. As with Mssrs Torres and Aquilani, it is, for now, nowhere to be seen.

Before yesterday’s match, I half-jokingly said we might have to win the Champions League in order to qualify for it next season. Now, we are flailing in both of the most coveted competitions. I have a dark vision of us struggling to stay in the top four at season’s end.

Then there’s the matter of Rafael Benitez.

Whenever Rafa hit a rough patch in the last couple of years, the usual media outlets would start speculating about his imminent sacking. Now with four losses in a row (the worst red losing streak in 22-and-a-half years) combined with George Gillets recent public criticisms of Rafa, one feels as though this round of speculation might have something behind it.

We need a sign of intent on Sunday. The side needs to show that it isn’t about Torres’ or Gerrard’s fitness. That our hope aren’t hanging on two players. That the rest of the group can dig in and come up with a performance on par with the 2-1 or the 1-4 against United last season. We beat them at Anfield with Torres out and Gerrard coming in off the bench and we demolished them at Old Trafford without Xabi Alonso, our most influential player last season.

And if Liverpool can do that, they must carry that mentality into the matches against Arsenal, Fulham, Lyon away and Birmingham.

Liverpool’s real problem in recent years is while we play against clubs like United and Chelsea as if everything is at stake, we don’t play every match that way. If Rafa could have convinced our boys that Sunderland were really Rooney, Berbatov, Scholes, Fletcher, and co. disguised in Blackcats kits, we may well have overcome that 1-0 deficit with room to spare.

But until we learn to play as if our fate is on the line for every match (at least in the League and in Europe) then we will not live up to the potential we showed throughout last season. And our goals will slide further from reach.

I’m trying to cling to my remaining strings of optimism. But I need something explosive on Sunday. It is time to bounce back. Even if the League is out of reach already, Liverpool need to charge toward the end of the season with the grit and integrity they showed most of last year. To the players: this team is not two men. It is time to remind the supporters and yourselves of that fact.

“Who pays the players when they’re on international duty?” asks Doug.

Here in the football wilderness that is the states, I find more and more of my friends, neighbors and coworkers growing curious about the beautiful game. The “football-curious” we’ll call them. And since they know me as somebody who’s fanatical about the sport, they inevitably come to me when they have questions. (If they looked a little harder I’m sure they could find somebody with deeper knowledge than myself, somebody who’s followed word football a lot longer than I have. But for now, I’m what they’ve got.)

I find they often get hung-up on the concept of International v. Club football. I did too when I started following. In America the idea of the National Team is not as entrenched in our mainstream sports culture as it is in world football (unless the Olympic games happen to be on). And while Americans will follow certain national teams for our popular sports, like basketball and baseball and hockey, those teams don’t play so often we need to worry about when our star players are called up or worry about them picking up injuries in between club fixtures. Sure we have the World Series in baseball. But this is slathered in irony on par with our Orwellian  “Department of Defense”: the only team from outside the United States with any hope of getting in the “World Series” is Toronto.

But I was stumped by my football-curious coworker Doug’s question: who pays the players when they go on international duty? I didn’t know. It was one of those things that sounded vaguely familiar. Like I’d read about this somewhere at some point but it was buried in the deep annals of my mind beneath the opening paragraph of the Gettysburg Address and the basics of pre-Calculus. Either that or it rode the brain cells I’d sacrificed to the gods of time and drink off into the ether.

I asked Des, our resident Scottish bartender and football fanatic. He didn’t know either. This made me feel somewhat better. But I was still failing as local football guru.

So I went home and turned to the internet. At once a vast network of everything you ever wanted to know about everything and an endless abyss of more than you ever wanted to know about anything.

How did we live before the internet? We must have stayed up all night – tossing, turning, trying to remember that tiny factoid, nipping at the tip of the tongue of the mind.

Now we flip open the laptop and Google away.

As best as I can understand it from scraps unearthed hither and yon and on FIFA.com, the players are paid weekly by their clubs so when they are off on international duty they are getting the same paycheck as when they are at home playing in a domestic fixture. There has been some contention over whether or not this should be the case. And of course the question of how could the Ivory Coast’s football association afford Didier Drogba if this system were ever changed.

Then there is the question of a player getting injured on international duty. The club can lose a star after international injury but must keep paying said player. (See: Michael Owen in 2006.)

To ease this the governing bodies have begun compensating clubs when players are injured during international play. Last year FIFA and UEFA agreed to pay clubs when players are injured in World Cup and Euro finals and the FA compensates English clubs toward injured players’ salaries through an insurance system.

The most recent article I found on this came from July, a piece written on the AIFF (All Indian Football Federation) and their attempts to implement a similar insurance scheme in India.

Of course there could be further developments swimming around out their in the vast ocean that is the internet. That’s part of the problem. You think you’ve found all the answers, but deeper digging could prove you wrong. The search engines are fast and bring back a wealth of results. But they aren’t quite smart enough to know exactly what you are looking for.

I could keep digging – I should keep digging, but this writer has to close the laptop and get to work. Hopefully Doug is satisfied with what I’ve eked out of the web. Otherwise, he might go looking for a new football guru.

How did it come to this? I’m resting my hopes for Liverpool’s season on an injured Italian midfielder who remains unproven in the Premier League. Alberto Aquilani, bought this summer for £20m to replace Xabi Alonso (if that’s possible) came to Liverpool a broken man. Hints that he’s been training and we could see him by the end of the month tickle at my expectations and curiosity. You see: apart from the fuzzy YouTube clips I’ve found, I have no idea what to expect of Alberto Aquilani.

I’ve read great things about him. I’ve heard great things about him. But this is not enough consolation as of yet. Waiting to see Aquilani in action is like waiting for the night of a blind date to come around. All my friends have assured me: “She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s funny. And she has a terrific through ball.” I want to trust those friends. I want to believe the girl is the answer and will fill that big hole in my middle. But until we’re sitting down to dinner and the conversation starts flowing, I’ll be swimming in a nervy pool anticipation. (Alright, time to switch of the metaphor before it takes control.)

Last season Xabi Alonso was consistently the most influential player on the pitch for Liverpool. Waiting to hear if Xabi was leaving for Real Madrid or not was a painful drawn-out echo of that feeling of waiting for him to get up in one piece after Joey Barton slammed through him last May. While a team is no one player, Xabi was the central cog in the machine. Xabi’s beautiful long passes were the link from midfield to the front men.

He freed up Gerrard to get forward and devastate in and around the penalty area. He drew opposition players to him (they knew his playmaking could undo them and they rightly tried to swamp him out) which only gave more space to the likes of Torres, Gerrard, Kuyt and Riera. And when his long shots were on target it seemed like a goal could be scored from anywhere on the pitch. Our opponents knew how dangerous he was. Red card after red card was issued after players frantically took Xabi down.

Then, due to some combination of yearning for his homeland, feeling slighted from the previous summer’s Gareth Barry Saga, and drooling over the gargantuan bags of cash Real Madrid were willing to fling his way, Xabi left us.

So here’s Aquilani. He’s rated by Roma supporters and by Roma players including Liverpool alumnus John Arne Riise. Described as a creative box-to-box midfielder (without going back to the blind date metaphor… how sexy does that sound??) There are some great clips of Aquilani making great plays and taking some insane shots, but those of us who aren’t Dennis Wise need something more than a few gritty YouTube clips before we get behind a player.

Of course, at this point, Liverpool supporters have little choice.

Lucas Leiva is at best a squad player. Even if Aquilani is lost in the shadow left by Xabi Alonso, he must at least be good enough to displace Lucas from regular first team starts. Steven Gerrard has been pulled back in recent games to help beef up the midfield, but we long to see him slotting in behind Torres once again. There’s been no spark in the midfield which is where the important battles (and many league matches) are won and lost.

We need Aquilani to come good. We need creativity and diligence in the middle. A quality link between Mascherano’s defense and Gerrard’s attack.

Aquilani’s long rehabilitation has meant Liverpool supporters must wait to see just what £20m has bought. And even when he finally hits the pitch, we’ll need to exercise further patience. Between Rafa easing Aquilani back into play after a long injury and the time it will take for Aquilani to adapt to a new league and a new team, it will be a while before we see what impact he can really make. “Any foreign player coming into this country deserves a little time to gel with their teammates and get used to the new style of football. It’s such a tough and aggressive league,” reminds Steve McManaman in his recent call for supporters to give Alberto time to adjust.

Hopefully, Liverpool haven’t lost further ground by the time Alberto Aquilani finally makes his presence known.

I find myself asking it all the time: how old is that player? My last such quandary was over Arshavin (older than I would have guessed). Before that it was over Jovetic (younger than I would have guessed). When I’ m looking up a player’s age for an article or to settle a bet or for the hell of it and a date before 1980 pops up, my initial reaction is: “Wow, he’s getting old…”

But wait… I was born before 1980 (by nine months). I’m not getting old. Am I??

I was watching an archived match between Chelsea and Liverpool yesterday from 1997. After Chelsea fell down to ten men, Ruud Gullit was subbed in for a well-coiffed Gianfranco Zola. The commentator made a remark about Gullit’s age as if being 35 was, well, remarkable. Later when Chelsea were backtracking, he commented that Gullit didn’t seem to be getting back quick enough. Was it his age? pondered the announcer.

Was it his age? I looked at Ruud Gullit: he was five years older then than I am now. Fit. Agile. Still able to do things on the ball that I could maybe pull off with endless practice and only on a Playstation3. And this was a man at the end of his career as a football player. The announcer made it sound like he was ready for an oxygen tank and a wheelchair.

Conversely, it’s strange to think that Cristiano Ronaldo is only 24 and Lionel Messi is 22 when they’ve each accomplished so much in their lives so far. Ronaldo signed his first professional contract at age 10. Messi played with Newell’s Old Boys from age 8 until he joined Barca’s U-14 squad in 2000. These guys are really still kids and they are at the height of their abilities and soaring at life.

I put these things in context/contrast with/to my own life and condition. I’m a writer. It’s not unusual for our careers to get going at age 30 (or later). And, whether anybody’s reading or not, I’ll probably still be writing up until the day I lose the mental skills needed to form a sentence. And so even knowing how young these guys are when they become professional footballers doesn’t take the edge off how strange it feels to be calling them “old” when they hit their thirties.

I’ve been thinking about this kind of thing as I watch Jamie Carragher get another year older. He was in that archived Chelsea match as well. In 1997 Carra was 20 years old. Fresh and vibrant. A gleam in his eye for the future. Plenty of career ahead of him. Now he’s 31 and we’re talking about “is he too old?” He’s a year older than me and we’re asking if his time as a starter is winding down.

We look at Giggs (35) and Beckham (34) as elder statesman in this sport. We are tempted to cart David James(39) off to the lab and stick him under a microscope and see what keeps him going, as we might have done with Sheringham and Maldini before they each retired in their 40s.

Even Michael Owen WHO IS ONLY TWENTY-NINE is portrayed like he’s fighting the wrong-end of the battle with age. (Although, in his case, the many injuries have surely sped up the aging process – if only through our perceptions.)

Players like Carragher, who has given more than a decade of service and made upwards of 500 appearances, are becoming  a rarity. That one-club player who seems to keep going and going.

And so it is hard to let such a player go. It’s hard to think of football without David Beckham or Michael Owen. Of Liverpool without Jamie Carragher. United without Giggs. Chelsea without Terry. Real without Raul. And so on.

But ultimately these are short windows we’re looking at: these sporting careers. These guys get noticed when they are teenagers, dazzle us for a decade or so at the top level if we’re lucky and then slow it down and often retire at an age when most of us probably have barely established tenure in whatever field we call our own.

Then again, if we believe advertising, popular film, rock/pop stars etc: being in your early twenties is what it’s all about. Right? Maybe these athletes have simply learned to be in sync with the outrageous time-frame of popular culture. It’s better to burn out (or blow out a ligament) than to fade away?

God, I hope not.

Old Man Armsrong (b. 1979) signing off.

I was stumped by Rafa’s decision to leave Yossi Benayoun out though. Since Chelsea were relying on their back-up keeper it would seem the more cannons we could fit on the pitch the better. My lineup would have been Reina, Johnson, Skrtel, Carragher, Insua, Mascherano, Gerrard, Riera, Benayoun, Kuyt, Torres. That’s a firm backbone in midfield (Masch, Gerrard) with four proven goal scorers in attack (Yossi, Riera, Kuyt, Torres). And even with Rafa’s eternal insistence on starting Lucas, I still would have found a place for Yossi (probably over Riera) with his league hat trick still fresh in the memory.

But Yossi was nowhere to be seen when the match began. I will say, however, Lucas had one of his better outings. Like Liverpool, he rises to the challenge of facing a big side (most notably his start against Manchester United last season) and he held his own: digging in, making firm challenges, turning possession around. When Yossi did finally hit the pitch, though, he was the best player in sight. Taking on defenders. Turning. Prodding. Penetrating. His one great chance was off target, but I feel if he’d had more time on the pitch he could have made the difference.

2-0, as my friend Marty said after the match, was a flattering scoreline to Chelsea. For most of the match Liverpool were the better side. One slip-up by Mascherano (our best player before Yossi came on: his defensive work was solid – his distribution was inspiring) gave Anelka the chance he needed to open the scoring and turn the tide. But despite the points dropped, I was encouraged by Liverpool’s play, especially after the shoddy outing against Fiorentina midweek.

Truth is it’s hard to undo Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. Yesterday’s loss should remind us what a brilliant win last season’s upset there really was. There’s a reason the Blues go on long unbeaten streaks at home: they are hard to beat at the Bridge.

The biggest concern for me was Didier Drogba going up against our defense which has had its problems this season. But until his devastating assist in the late minutes, Drogba seemed more interested in falling down than creating a viable chance. In August I wrote an article searching for my new football villain after Ronaldo’s departure from the Premier League. Drogba was the best candidate. Yesterday he sealed it for me.

I’ve never seen somebody that big go down that easily and then get up so quickly once play resumes. It seems like even if his dives are convincing, the ref should stop giving him the benefit of the doubt after he’s done it four times. “Drogba was shot four times,” said Marty. “But he never died!”

My friend Niall reiterated his complaint from last season’s Champions League quarter-final second leg: “I’d be embarassed to have him on my side.”

Clearly John Terry felt the same way when he finally strode up to Drogba and scolded him out for his ridiculous simulating.

Overall, I cannot condemn Liverpool’s efforts. Despite the points dropped, this was one of our more convincing displays of the season. The two moments that led to the goals were two of the few moments where we slipped. It stings to have dropped nine points already this season, but if the title becomes out of reach, I won’t look to yesterday’s match as the match to blame. Spurs: yes. Villa: yes. Not yesterday.

The only thing I would have done differently is start Yossi Benayoun. Hopefully his wonderful performance as a substitute yesterday earns him a starting place next time out.